Saving Grace
by Elenimou
Summary: Stephanie is saved from a frozen death and Rangeman gains a new medic. Babe, Cupcakes not allowed.
1. Chapter 1

Hang in there. We will meet our favorite Trenton characters later. Saving Grace is not an AU nor a Cupcake. Maybe a Babe...we'll see.

Characters:

Malika Arkadyevna, daughter

Arkady Babaev, father

Katherine Bianca Babaova, wife

Ivan Rostov, a Russian officer

Turkmen Men:

Ruslan Kasymov, a tribal leader

Sabrina, his wife

Ene Kasymov, Ruslan's nephew and Taliban soldier

Astra, Ene's brother

Billy Montell, FTA

**Prologue**

Rising from the sea like the ancient Greek Riace statue, the bronze skin man strolled up the beach, stopped and began wiping the water from his muscular body and golden locks, casting the salty water off his fingertips. His aim was not indiscriminate. He directed the water in a perfect trajectory.

"Hey, don't drip all over me, you pinhead," Ram spat as Les' fingers danced. In an instant, Ram, the former Navy SEAL sniper, had Lester, the former Army Ranger, down on the ground shoveling sand into his swim trunks.

So began the epic wrestling match in the sand between two 6'2" blond males with extensive muscle definition. The only way to determine the difference between failing bodies was Les' skin and hair were darker. The two men's knowledge of martial arts, hand to hand combat, and dirty street fighting had them grappling, throwing, hitting, and partially pinning each other.

Other male Adonis', all employees of the security company, Rangeman, gathered to watch and shout encouragement to both combatants. Fists, wayward elbows, and feet eventually caught noses or lips. Blood began to appear. When both men's' chins dripped blood, Tank, and Hal, the two largest Rangemen lifted Lester, took him to the ocean, and threw him back into the water. Lester popped back up minus his swim trunks as he vigorously splashed water on his groin area.

Rangeman's CEO, Ranger Manoso, and his girlfriend, Stephanie Plum, were not far away. Stephanie turned quickly so as not to watch the display. "Santos," Ranger roared, "At least turn away." Ranger noted Ram was heading for a more private cabana and shower area.

By the time both men reappeared on the beach, their split lips and bleeding noses had stopped dripping. Their testosterone overload had quieted as well.

After examining both combatants, Bobby, the company medic, sat down next to Tank, the massive black man, second in charge of Rangeman, "At least they are no longer bleeding. No broken bones, but I suggest to both either remain in the cool water or ice down the bruised areas."

Tank shook his head, "This was supposed to be a cool down trip after Murphy children kidnapping case. Those two yahoos were still tightly wound."

Bobby looked over the other Rangemen who had returned to playing volleyball or relaxing on the beach. Most all were former elite military forces. Those that were not received their training on the streets. The only exception was the woman with the long brown curly hair currently splashing water on Ranger.

Stephanie and Ranger had been dancing around each other for several years. He refused to commit to a permanent relationship for several reasons, which only made sense to him. She, on the other hand, was devastated in early marriage and was now in an on-again-off-again, but increasing off-again, relationship with another man. She, too, had several reasons why she could not commit to either man.

Looking over at Ranger and Stephanie, Bobby wondered aloud, "Do you think those two will ever get their heads out of their asses about each other?"

Tank watched the man and woman frolicking in the water, "A psychologist could make a career out of those two." Tank continued, "Bossman is still under contract and doesn't want to leave a widow. To maintain his edge, he's had to create an iron cocoon around his emotions. Steph wants liberation from her dysfunctional family but can't break her tie to the community."

"Do you think she wants a normal married relationship?" Bobby asked.

Tank looked at him, "Once I would have answered, isn't that what every Burg woman wants? Morelli assumes it is. Poor jackass is caught in the same Burg cesspool of expectations as Bomber. Men get married, raise a good Burg family. Steph is hardly a Burg woman. In her first FTA, she was shot, killed someone, and yet returned to the job without psychological counseling. Quite the contrary, she was scolded by her mother and the community. She repeatedly rushes into situations the rest of us would hesitate. Still, she has gotten herself out of more scrapes than what we have saved her."

"Yeah, and one day she's going to get herself killed," Bobby said. "And what will happen to him?" referring to Ranger.

"If she were to die, especially on his watch, the beast behind the iron wall would emerge and self-destruct," Tank sighed. "But you should also ask what will happen to us? Are we much different than the boss? We are as close as any squad and she is our heart and soul. She is family, whether she knows it or not."

Both were quiet, reliving military and mercenary missions that scarred the psyche of all involved. Ranger was still doing the contract missions. Yet in their midst and darkness shone Stephanie, the Babe, Bomber, Beautiful, or Little Girl. She was the light in many of their souls.

"Have you thought about marriage, Tank?" Bobby asked.

Tank chuckled, "I assume you are not talking about Lula. That was a fling, crazy sex with a crazy woman." Tank looked out at the ocean and spoke quietly, "Alex and I had saved enough money to get married. A drunk driver jumped a curb and killed her coming out of the bridal salon, where she went for a dress fitting. After the funeral, I dropped out of college and joined the Army." Looking over at Ranger and Stephanie, he shook his head, "How much time will they waste?" Turning his head slightly towards Bobby, Tank quietly asked, "What about you?"

Bobby was quiet for a while, looking off across the water, searching his mind and heart. "I've heard about love at first sight. Remember Ranger the first time he met Bomber? I suspect he felt the 'thump.' I have had my share of girlfriends, but I never had that shot to the heart. Well, maybe once, but it was too short to know for sure."

-0-

**Chapter 1 Paris Many Years ago**

The sounds began again as they often did when her father came home late from work. Embassy party, important government meeting, her mother always had an explanation for why her husband failed to be present for dinner. Malika never asked her mother about the sounds she often heard when her father returned home late. Initially, she was too young to understand but grew to know the sounds were wrong.

The thick walls of the Parisian apartment could not muffle her mother's weeping and her father swearing. The young girl put her hands over her ears, but it did not help stop the anger in the air. Burying her head under the pillow, compressed the horror. Tomorrow her mother's face will have extra thick makeup to hide the bruises, and her clothing will completely cover her battered body. Malika would not be able to look at her mother without crying. What was so bad about her mother that her father needed to punish her?

When Malika asked her mother why her father punished her, her mother replied, "I love him but not when he drinks. He turns mean." Malika had seen her father at embassy parties where he was loving and proud of his wife. After all, he was married to the famous pianist Katherine Bianchi better known in the international embassy circles as Katherine Bianchi-Babaova.

The love Arkady Babaev showed for his wife away from home did not extend to his daughter. Malika did not attend embassy events at her father's insistence. When her father was home, Malika had to remain in her room, allowing the adults their privacy. She was courteous towards him, but not loving. Cuddles came from Ivan Rostov, her father's aide. Uncle Ivan, as Malika referred to him, often looked after Katherine and Malika when Arkady was away. Her father had never been to his daughter's dance or piano recitals, but Uncle Ivan never missed them.

Malika lifted her head from under the pillow. Her mother stopped weeping, but something was different. Her father was still moving around the apartment, swearing, and breaking items. Malika prayed he would leave and go to the embassy, hotel, or brothel, anywhere away from home.

The bedroom door opened. Was this her mother or father entering the room? Pretending to be asleep with the pillow over her head brought no protection. Suddenly the pillow disappeared, and her father stood glaring at her. The light from the street shone just enough to highlight the sweat on Arkady's face. His hand clenched and unclenched while he panted as if he had run up the stairs. Suddenly he raised his hand and slapped her, hard. He started hitting her about the face and body. What had she done? Never had Arkady touched her harshly. She tried not to cry, but the pain was real. The more she cried, the more he hit. The hits stopped, but the bed sagged as Ardaky climbed on top of her. Ripping her gown, his hands had access to her neck.

Holding her down, he bent over, trying to kiss her. Alcohol oozed from his breath. Malika tried to deflect her face, earning another sharp slap. Instinctively she knew she had to stop crying and relax. Uncle Ivan taught her self-defense, beginning with relaxing and waiting for an opportunity to escape. When she calmed, her father removed his hands and attempted to unbutton his trousers. Now was her chance to escape. As Ardady fumbled, trying to lower his pants, Malika kicked up, catching her father's scrotum, stunning him. She slipped out from under him and ran from the bedroom to the apartment's front door. Arkady bellowed like a bull and tried to follow her, but his pants had slipped down around his ankles, slowing his actions. By some miracle, she disabled all the door locks before her father could shuffle to the main salon.

Running down the stairs, she silently held her screams until she entered the main lobby. With her torn nightgown blowing open and blood dripping from her nose and mouth, she continued past the main desk, running towards the front door away from the apartment and Arkady. The surprised _portier_ noted her bloody face and torn clothes and quickly followed.

The summer rain choked back the screams. The young girl stood silent, trembling to allow the water to wash the blood from her body. Her near-naked condition forgotten. As the _portier_ opened the door, a lightning bolt struck the tree across the street. The already frightened little girl crouched down and screamed, "_Dyadya mne pomogayet._" (Uncle, save me.)

Rushing to the small girl, the porter removed his jacket, wrapped it around the shivering child, and carefully carried her back into the lobby. The night clerk rushed with a blanket to cover the child before summoning the police and notifying Russian Embassy.

The police were the first to arrive. Four men uniforms came to the porter, still holding the weeping shivering young child. The older policeman, the one most likely in charge, looked at the desk clerk and the porter and inquired, "What is the situation?" The porter answered briefly.

"Has anyone gone to the apartment?" the older policeman asked.

The porter shook his head no, "We were waiting for you."

The older officer accompanied by two others went upstairs while the fourth remained in the lobby with the porter and child. Malika watched the activity, but said nothing, concentrating on her even breathing as her Uncle Ivan taught her. The tears slowed, and her shivering lessened.

The police officers found the apartment salon in disarray. Lamps lay on the floor, and books strewn about, broken Chinese vase was near a splintered side chair. Face down on the floor, his pants around ankles, was a passed-out Babaev. The police searched the bedrooms were they found the wife bloodied and unconscious.

Moments later, Colonel Ivan Rostov, Babev's aid, marched into the lobby. He was 6'3" Slavic in appearance, light hair cut short, blue eyes. He wore the identification of Army GRU, Spetnaetz, military police.

"_Dyadya_" (uncle), the young girl wailed. Rostov rushed to her. As she reached out for his embrace, the blanket fell open, revealing the bruising forming on her face, neck, and body under the torn nightclothes.

"_Moya rebebok_," he cooed into Malika's ear as she began to weep again. (My child).

Malika was petite even for a ten-year-old. She was far from puberty. The tall, muscular Colonel effortlessly took the child from the porter. The policeman stood nearby, debating if he should let the Russian officer take the child. Though the policeman did not speak Russian, he was least a family friend. Rostov turned to the police officer and asked in French, "What can you tell me."

The officer was surprised. Usually, foreigners, especially embassy officials, were more demanding expecting immediate information. This one realized the police might have limitations and asked, "What CAN you tell me." This Russian had manners.

Looking at the girl and back to the Russian, the officer shook his head, "I know nothing. You'll have to talk with my supervisor upstairs."

Looking at the child, the Colonel softly spoke in French so the officer could listen, "My little dove, I must go upstairs to check on your mother. I will return to you as soon as I can. Please remain calm; I will return and protect you."

Malika shuddered, "He was hitting _Mere_ again. He came into my room and began hitting me."

Ivan, a highly trained officer, barely held his rage. He must remain calm for the girl's sake. He also needed more information from her but needed the inspector present.

"Take care of her, please," Rostov said, handing her back to the porter. He avoided the elevator and ran up the same stairs Malika had run down. When he got to the apartment, he found an officer outside the door. "I'm Colonel Ivan Rostov from the Russian Embassy." Rostov should have identified himself as the ambassador's aid but wanted some measure between him and what he feared had happened.

"One moment, sir, the supervisor will be here." Shortly the older officer with tired eyes came and checked the Colonel's papers. He noted the _Spetnatz_ badges and rank. This was a fellow law enforcement officer. The Parisian inspector almost felt embarrassed, saying, "You may come in but touch nothing." He was sure the man knew the protocols.

As he entered, Rostov saw Babev passed out on the floor. His trousers were still around his ankle. Glancing down and then back to the inspector, Rostov asked, "What about Katherine, his wife?"

"She is unconscious. The ambulance will be here shortly. You confirm this is Ambassador Babaev?" Rostov glanced back down again at Babev's bare ass, not usually the part of him most often seen. Rostov simply said, "_Oui_," then muttered something in Russian. The inspector did not understand but got the gist from the delivery.

"Colonel Rostov, I have a problem. I need to do an investigation and write a report, but you know I cannot arrest him with his diplomatic immunity."

Before the inspector could continue, the ambulance attendants arrived with their gurney. They had to step over Babev to get to their patient in the bedroom.

Rostov looked down, "He is in your way. The embassy police are on their way now. They will move him."

"Thank you, Colonel." Inspector Jules Rousseau wanted the bastard on the floor in his in Paris jail but knew diplomacy would prevent it. He would have to be satisfied filing a report and hopeful the Russian government would remove this filth from his country.

Inspector Rousseau expected to hear the Russian embassy police arrive. Instead, overly large and muscled men appeared nearly unheard. These were not heavy booted men, but rather especially well trained _Spetnaetz_ men and military Special Forces.

Rostov issued orders in Russian, and immediately the four men picked up Babaev, adjusted his pants, and got him out of the apartment quickly.

Rostov watched his men drag Babaev away before turning to the police officer. "Captain Rousseau, I apologize this occurred, but rest assured this will be the last time you see Assistant Ambassador Arkady Babaev." Rostov eyes spoke what his voice could not, "I would have preferred to eliminate him myself."

Nodding in acknowledge and relief, Rousseau was confident Babaev would not wash up along the river, at least not the Seine but maybe the Moskva.

Rostov desperately wanted to see Katherine but knew he would only be in the ambulance attendants' way. "I will return to Malika, the child, and wait for you."

"Let me talk to my men first, and I will go with you." The captain gave the two remaining police specific orders then joined Rostov returning to the lobby.

Ivan entered the lobby and went to Malika, who was now sitting on the lobby canapé. Lifting her from the round sofa into his arms, he cooed in French, "Malika, my love, this is Captain Rousseau. He wants to know what happened. Before you begin, breathe, sweetheart, breathe like the big clock in the hall."

Malika responded. She knew the proper breathing method critical in Russian martial arts. She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. She did not over-inflate her lungs, thus tensing her shoulder muscles. Her body's need was dictating the air coming in.

"Now, starting from the top of your head, relax," Ivan coached. "Let your neck relax, your shoulders, arms down to your fingertips..."

After several minutes, Malika began whispering, "I was already in bed asleep, but the sounds woke me up. He was yelling at _Mere_ again. I put the pillow over my head, but it did not help. _Mere_ stopped crying, but _Pere_ was breaking items in the salon. Then my bedroom door opened. I did not know who it was. Suddenly the pillow disappeared from my head, and _Pere_ hit me and kept hitting me. He tore my clothes and put his hands around my neck. I tried to remember what you taught me _Oncle_, stay calm so the body can adjust to the hits. It was hard. I waited and stayed still until he released my neck and began unbuttoning his trousers. Then I…" Malika stopped and started tensing up again.

"Breathe, my little dove," Ivan cooed.

After a few breaths, the little girl continued, "I kicked up and then rolled out from underneath him. He screamed he was going to..." Again she tensed, but Ivan brushed away a single tear falling down her cheek.

"And then…" he coached.

Malika shut her eyes for a moment concentrating on taking air in through her nose and out through her mouth, smoothly like the great clock ticking in the hotel lobby. She opened her eyes and continued, "I ran down the stairs away from him. The rain was cold. Suddenly there was a loud explosion." As she finished, she buried her head in the Russian officer's neck. Rostov gently urged, "My dear, relax again before continuing." Her breaths were more even, and she slowly lifted her head to look at Rostov. Tears began again.

"My little dove, this is a hard question. Did your father touch you any other place than your face and neck?"

As if in a trance, she replied in a monotone, "He hit my body several times and grabbed my legs."

"Did he do anything more, my dove?" Rostov was fighting his fear.

Malika lowered her head but did not answer.

Rostov turned to the captain. "Do you need to ask her questions?" The inspector shook his head no. "The child may need a hospital," the police officer whispered.

Malika heard the hospital and grabbed Ivan tighter burying her head into his neck.

"Will someone drive us? I'd rather not let someone else carry her."

Across the lobby's expanse, the elevator doors opened to the gurney carrying Katherine Babaova to the waiting ambulance. Malika screamed, "_Mere, Mere_." The lady on the stretcher did not respond.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Babaev was sleeping off his drunkenness in a basement room in the Paris Embassy. The room had no bed or bunk, only a drain in the concrete floor to wash away filth. His hands were bloody and torn from where he had beaten his wife and daughter. No doctor had been called to treat his injuries. The Russian ambassador, still dressed in his evening tuxedo, stood over him shaking his head. "_Svoloch_!" he mumbled. (You bastard) Turning to the embassy guards, he spat, "He leaves tonight."

Within two hours, Asst. Ambassador Arkady Babaev was on his way back to Russia, along with photographs taken by the Russian Embassy guards. Reports from the Paris police and Embassy would follow in several days. Six months later, the trial's sentence was ten years in prison. There would be no parole.

When Katherine Babaova left the Paris hospital, she immediately contacted an attorney to begin divorce proceedings. The Russian government did nothing to hinder the divorce but instead aided in its passage. They were embarrassed. Katherine Bianchi-Babanova and her daughter returned to the mother's birthplace, New York City. Arkady Babaev initially refused to sign the divorce papers. Eventually, he changed his mind, allowing the prison commander to holster his weapon.

Babaev's former aide, Colonel Ivan Rostov, transferred to the New York Embassy. Months later, he and Katherine wed. Katherine used the American custom of taking her husband's last name, Rostov, but did not use the Russian tradition of adding a suffix to make Rostova.

Ivan retired from the Army and Embassy service becoming a consultant, a nebulous term meaning he helped people with money find people who needed money. His fees for the service provided him and his family a comfortable living. He never cut ties with the Russian Army and Embassy associates to monitor Babaev.

When Ivan and Katherine were married, Malika learned Ivan was her biological father. Suddenly her world exploded into color. She was loved and cherished, not condemned to her room. She always had a close relationship with Uncle Ivan and now knew why. Unfortunately, the cumulative effect of years of beating-related concussions caught up with Katherine. Her brain damage resulted in early dementia and failing eyesight. Ivan Rostov remained faithful caring for the woman he loved deeply and the daughter he fathered years before.

Their happiness was short-lived. Malika was finishing at Columbia University when Ivan learned he had terminal cancer. Katherine was also dying from years of physical abuse. Soon Malika would be without family. Ivan knew Arkady was developing contacts in the Russian mob, _Bratva_, and upon his prison release in two years, he would be a threat to Malika. How could Ivan protect her after his death? Malika was the one to suggest going into the US military for her medical training.

Ivan's contacts within the US military assured him Malika would go straight from college to the Air Force medical training in California. Katherine died several months before Malika's college graduation. The day following graduation she kissed her father goodbye, knowing this would be the last time she saw him. He was failing quickly, from not only cancer but also the loss of the two women he loved. He died with a broken heart and pancreatic cancer two weeks later. There was no funeral or memorial at his request wanting only to lie beside his beloved Katherine.

**Fourteen years later. **

Captain Malika, her preferred name, settled into the C17 Globemaster as it left Lunstrum Air Force Base in Germany for Bagram AFB Kabul. Her routine assignment was the flight from Lungstrum to Dover, Delaware, returning the injured back to the States. Fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan had accelerated, and the wounded number needing to get to intensive care in Germany increased. As they landed, they noted the turn around was quick as the ambulances waited alongside the runway as the giant aircraft slowed, turned, and positioned itself for immediate takeoff once new patients were aboard. Today's flight was her fifth run into Kabul in ten days, and she had yet to put her foot on Afghani soil or even Bagram tarmac.

As the big jet taxied to the loading area, a single ambulance waited for their arrival. "Must be a hold-up, only one bus waiting for us," said medic Anthony Brussels referring to the ambulance.

"What's the hurry, Sergeant? You have a girl waiting for you back in Lungstrum?" the Captain asked as she waited for the loadmaster to lower the ramp.

Brussels was a good airman, competent medic, but also a lady's man. His movie-star looks, blue eyes, dimples, and boyish charm had women swooning. He had no girlfriend, preferring to play the field while in service. There was time for serious relationships later. "I do, Captain. Next on the list is a cute nurse from Mississippi. I just love those southern gals."

Chuckling, the doctor said, "Sergeant, last week you loved 'those California girls."

He smiled his two-dimple smile and shrugged, "What can I say? I like to travel, but I'm always happy to be away from here, the sooner, the better."

"Me too. I feel like a giant target here in this big grey bird," Malika agreed.

The giant ramp finally touched the tarmac. Captain Malika walked to the rear to receive the first transport when a half dozen men came swarming up with rifles, but they were not MPs. Everyone put their hands up. Military training had prepared them for this occurrence, so everyone remained calm. Supplies were replaceable, but not people. The invaders ran deeper into the aircraft with bags and started looting supplies. Storage bins were opened and emptied into bags. One man came up the ramp, his face hidden by the keffiyeh scarf. Looking at a picture in his hand, he walked up to Malika. Double-checking the image, and the name on her uniform, Arkadyevna, he nodded to a second man. Suddenly a rifle butt smashed Malika from the side. She did not double over gasping for air. Fearing the woman would retaliate, the leader barked a command, and a shot rang out. Tony Brussels fell to the floor with a leg wound.

Malika looked at Tony to assess his injury when another rifle butt hit caught her in the carotid artery causing her to blackout and collapse. Several men grabbed her and carried to the waiting M997, HMMWV ambulance. The invaders left the aircraft as quickly as they arrived. The rest of the crew moved to help Tony but promptly hit the floor as a volley of bullets slammed into the bay from the departing vehicle.

Malika regained consciousness quickly but not soon enough to escape. She was restrained with cable ties, gagged, and had a hood thrown over her head. After an unknown time through city streets weaving around traffic and turning corners, the vehicle suddenly stopped. Two men carried her to another truck, tossed her into the truck's bed, barely stopping for the transfer. After two more vehicle changes and innumerable hours, the motion stopped. The air was cold. Since her head was still covered, she could only surmise they were in the Hindu Kush Mountains east of Kabul. In reality, they were north in an entirely different country. Two men dragged her out and tried to stand her on her feet, but her legs were wobbly from the long confinement. As one man held her, the other cut her restraints and removed the hood. The night's darkness and lack of electrical light prevented her from seeing where she was and who was near. Before she could devise an escape plan, a shove with a rifle butt indicated she needed to walk forward. As she stumbled over the uneven ground, the outhouse smell filled the air. She desperately needed to relieve herself and readily accepted the indication she was to tend to nature.

When finished, her night sight had improved but the armed guards continued to encourage her progress with not so subtle shoves to the back. Her destination was a small metal building. It was a small trailer or caravan. Once inside, her eyes had little trouble adjusting to the low light cast by one kerosene lantern. Along one wall were strewn the supplies stolen from the medical transport. An older man stood nearby. Beside him, on a pallet, lay a woman. A younger man stood guard with a Russian rifle. His face uncovered. The older man stepped forward and said in Russian, "I am Ruslan Kasymov, this is my wife, Sabrina. Please help her."

Malika was surprised. She expended any of several other languages, Pashtu, Dari, but not Russian. She could read the desperation in the man's eyes as heard the moaning from the woman. Malika looked around for water to wash her hands, mimicking hand-washing action. She said, " _Mne nuzhno mylo i voda._" (I need soap and water.) A bucket of cold water and lye soap bar appeared. There was no towel, but it would not have been sterile.

The doctor began her examination. The older woman was feverish and obviously in pain through her back. By Ruslan translated her questions to the woman who reported in the past she had been nauseous and vomiting for days along with bloody urine. The symptoms went away but now were back, far worse than before. Malika looked at the stolen items from the aircraft. She needed diagnostic equipment.

For a grab and dash, the raiders did an excellent job. Supplies included a stethoscope as well as a sphygmomanometer for taking blood pressure. A wide arrange of bandages and ointments spilled from one bag along with suturing material. As for meds, Malika had pain relievers and antibiotics. There was no blood plasma or Ringers for fluid resuscitation.

After examining the patient more thoroughly, Maika suspected kidney or bladder stones. All she had for treatment was water for drinking, pain relievers, which would offer minimal relief, and time. If small enough, the stones would pass. Larger stones often required surgical or extracorporeal shock wave lithotripsy intervention. Malika didn't have the equipment. She explained the problem to the older man and her limited ability to help her. If the patient did not pass the stone soon, the woman would need surgery.

"Not possible," the old man answered.

The pain relievers barely helped the excruciating pain. Malika encouraged her patient to drink as much water as possible. Two days later, the stones passed, and Sabrina, Ruslan's wife, regained her strength. As soon as Sabrina was up and walking, the entire community packed up as if ready for departure. These were gypsies without a permanent home.

Malika assumed she would be released to return to the Kabul, but Ruslan refused. Malika would stay and be the tribe's healer and marry into the tribe. The previous healer had died. To make sure Malika would not leave on her own, she had continual armed guards following her. Malika's uniform had confiscated burned the first night in camp. Now she wore traditional tribal garb.

After a month, the gypsy camp's generally happy mood became tense. The younger adult men were back, including Ene, Ruslan's nephew. The men had been fighting in Afghanistan with the Taliban. Immediately Malika caught Ene's eye though she tried very hard to remain hidden from him. When Ene inquired about the new healer, Ruslan told him the woman was a kidnapped Russian medic. There was no telling what a Taliban fighter would do when he discovered she was American.

After several weeks of avoiding Ene, Malika was preoccupied with wrapping a woman's leg. The bandage box had English labels. Ene flew into a rage, "Where did you get this?" he demanded.

Malika's knowledge of the local languages was skimpy. "O'g' rlamoq," she replied. (stolen) Ene accepted the answer and walked away. However, it was not long before he went to his uncle, Ruslan, demanding the Russian medic as a wife. At first, Ruslan said no, knowing Ene abused his previous wives until they died. When Ene raised his rifle and demanded again, Ruslan relented.

Malika never officially became Ene's wife, though. The local religious leader, the Iman, refused to perform a marriage ceremony citing Ene's previous wives dying under his care. That did not stop Ene. He took Malkia as his woman, shackling her each night to the trailer and beating and raping her at whim. When other men commented about his brutal treatment, Ene raised his rifle while questioning their concern. Late one night, Ene had gone off to be with his men when Malika slipped away. She nearly made it to the Maseri-i-Sharif, having only to cross the great river to return to Afghanistan. Ene and his men found her. She returned to the tribe badly beaten. Malika now wore shackles 24 hours a day to prevent another escape.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Lt. Manoso**

Green was color all but eliminated from the nearby landscape: Brown earth, brown rocks, and brown homes. Green trees and grass belonged in the city's wealthier areas. Here there were no such luxuries.

Lt. Ric Manoso ignored the sweat running down his neck and back. Raised in Newark, New Jersey, and Miami, Florida, the heat was a constant companion. The cigarette hanging from his mouth was less a health threat than the many other objects likely to kill him, such as venomous snakes and spiders, bullets, shrapnel, and IEDs. The team's medic, Sergeant Brian McClintock caught shrapnel on their last mission. The new assignment could not begin until a medic arrived from a US base in Anbar Provice, Iraq.

The Humvee rolled to a stop in front of the tent. In ten years, buildings will replace all the tents. For now, most structures were canvas. A tall, dark skin man emerged from the vehicle with the extra baggage.

"Are you the medic?" Manoso asked.

"Yes, sir. Brown."

"I am Manoso, let me help you inside. Briefing begins shortly."

The two men joined the other Rangers. Sergeant Diaz was the same height as Manoso. Two corporals, Han and Voss, were smaller yet equally fit. As they were introducing themselves, Captain Humphries entered with another man, taller than everyone present. He was black skin, 6'6" and built like a brick shit house. The men quieted quickly.

"Before we get into the assignment, Lt. Sherman will be joining you, though Manoso remains in command. You are down another man as Santiago was called back home for family matters, and Sherman's team hasn't arrived.

While starting a mission with two new members wasn't Manoso's choice, he could hardly keep from smiling. Pierre Sherman had grown up in the same Newark Latino neighborhood as Ric. The big man had garnered the nickname Tank before he achieved the ultimate height of 6'6". Ric disappeared to Miami for four years before returning to Rutgers. When he returned to New Jersey, he learned Tank had gone to Penn State but dropped out before getting his degree.

Captain Humphries began the briefing, "Men, the rescue mission is for Air Force Captain Malika Arkadyevna. Flight Surgeon kidnapped from here six months ago. Ignore the name. She is an American by way of her mother. Initial leads to her whereabouts died out quickly. We have been turning rocks trying to find her. We now have good intel she's captive in southern Turkmenistan. Three months ago, she managed to escape her captors but recaptured attempting to cross the Amu Darya to get to Mazari-i-Sharif.

"In the initial kidnapping, air transport's medical supplies were taken. The Taliban forbade medical help for women except by other women and allotted nothing in supplies. Isolated pockets in southern Turkmenistan have substantial Taliban presence. Somebody important up there needed a medic and was willing to kidnap an American woman doctor and supplies."

The captain looked down at his notes, "Her mother is American, Italian heritage born in New York City. Her father is Arkady Babaev, a former Russian diplomat. For ten years, he was a resident of_ Matrosskkeya Tishina_ prison for spousal and child abuse. When released, he integrated himself into the Russian mob. He was born in Turkmenistan, educated in Moscow."

"Do you think she defected?" Manoso asked.

"No. Intel believes her father was behind the kidnapping. Her being in Bagram was temporary. Normally she was out of Lunstrum westward. Arkadyevna graduated from Columbia and enlisted soon after her mother died, and her step-father soon would. She got her medical degrees through the Air Force. Due to her name and father, she is under constant security scrutiny, but nothing has happened. There have been no contacts with her father, no access to security information, no security issues. She is a well-respected flight surgeon and needs to come home."

Manoso, Sherman, and Diaz had been on women soldiers' rescues before. The trauma inflicted on women captives was often worse than for men. Repeated rape, mutilation, and whippings were common. The men hoped since being a doctor and noncombatant, her treatment would be better, but doubted it.

-0-

The six-man Ranger rescue team made its way to Mazari-i-Sharif, north of Kabul, only a few miles from the border with the other three 'Stan's: Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, and Tajikistan. They skirted the large city of a half-million moving towards a town's edge.

Manoso thought about additional information from the briefing. With the collapsed USSR, the 'Stans were developing their governments free from Moscow's control. The flight surgeon was with a gypsy tribe, moving back and forth between two 'Stans. The older men were more pacifists and preferred to move their people into safer countries to the north, northwest, and northeast. What about the younger men? Many were drawn to the Taliban and were now converting to the newly forming ISIS and hiding in the 'Stans? Several countries' governments had been more friendly to the US, but even a tiny US military incursion in these three countries could result in severe political problems. The infiltration had to be quick and quiet. Manoso's team would have to get in and out quickly before anyone detected them.

The six Rangers stopped in front of a small earthen house surrounded by agricultural fields. Three US soldiers were outside standing guard. Three from Manoso's group joined them. Manoso, Sherman, and Brown went inside. Three soldiers were inside with a small man in tribal dress. One of the uniformed men stepped forward, "I'm Captain Burger, Intel. Amir has more information on our missing surgeon. He speaks Turkmen and Uzbek and a little Pashtu. Any of you speak those three?"

Two rangers shook their heads no. Manoso responded, "I'm just learning Pashtu."

"Well, hell, this should be fun. Feel free to show off your Pashtu knowledge," Burger said. He then began in Dari, the Afghan form of Persian. The man, Amir, recognized several words. With common ground, the two began building a dialog. Manoso could only add a few words if the man tried to use his limited Pashtu. A map appeared, and the man, Amir, started indicating several locations.

After 30 minutes and a lot of hand gestures, Burger turned to Manoso and the other Rangers, "As far as I can tell, she's in Turkmenistan, a captive of a man who fights with the Taliban. We know bands of men fight for a while and then return to their villages. She is still alive because her captors believe her to be Russian. But her health is failing, which is why Amir is here. Captain Arkad-however-you- say-her-name, saved his daughter's life. Now the doc needs saving."

"They think she's Russian but kidnapped her from an American base?" Sherman asked.

Burger nodded, "Crazy, yes. We need a better translator to learn the details. Get her home, and we can ask her ourselves."

"Does he say where?" Manoso asked.

"Southeast Turkmenistan." Moving the map in front of Manoso and his two men, Captain Burger continued. "Sayat outside of Koytan," he said, pointing to the map. "They are nomads and will move into Termez in Uzbekistan in a month or the next full moon; I'm not sure.

"If it's the full moon, we have less than four days."

Manoso looked at the map, "There's a landing strip in Gowurdak. How are our relations with Turkmenistan these days?" Manoso asked.

"Of all the 'Stan's, this is the most helpful. Getting into Gowurdak is not the problem. It is getting you close to Koytan and Sayat. You will travel by night and wear tribal garb over your ACUs. Your exfiltrate will have to be fast. The governments may be our friends or neutral, but there is a lot of unfriendliness in the area."

The approach to Sayat was up the river valley through Koytan at O-Dark-Thirty. The old Toyota Land Cruiser picked its way up the dirt road going as slow as possible to keep the engine noise down. The vehicle stopped several kilometers before Sayat, and the six-man team got out and climbed up into the hills behind the village. The SUV quietly left. The Manoso team moved off the ridge, wanting to find more cover and still be in a position to overlook the small village before the sun rose.

As the light increased, the Rangers observed women moving up a trail with water vessels. The men watched the women getting spring water, not river water. The women returned to the village. These were not gypsies. Later in the morning, another group went to the spring. The Rangers watched from their observation point. They carefully following this second group back down the trail, watching as they entered trailers and tents. Gypsies. Where was the medic?

Hour after hour, the Rangers watched through their binoculars. How would they identify the missing flight surgeon? The women were busy cooking meals. The men sat around, talking, or tinkering with their vehicles. Boys were kicking a ball through the camp when suddenly two collided. One got up; the other didn't. The Rangers watched another boy run to a trailer. Soon a woman in tribal dress moved to the boy. Her movements were slow and restricted as if dragging something. Her male escort carried a rifle but made no effort to help the boy or the woman. When the woman stumbled and hesitated to get up, the man kicked her. Other women came to help the child but stood back, not assisting the kicked woman, deferring to the man with the rifle. The women, not the men, carried the injured boy to a nearby tent. The slower woman and the man with the weapon followed them back.

"I think we've found her. Amir said the medic was in failing health," Manoso said quietly. "Her movements are slow and appear painful."

The Rangers began a rescue plan for the dark hours. The moonlight was minimal due to scattered clouds, ideal for the descent to the camp. As the men prepared, one of their spotters whispered, "Two people are leaving camp and moving towards the spring."

The Rangers repositioned themselves and watched. Using night-vision goggles, they could make out one of the women was bent over and stumbling. Whatever she was dragging before was now cloth wrapped to eliminate sounds. "That's our medic. She has the same ornamental banding around her skirt," Diaz whispered.

Once at the spring, the medic fell to the ground. The older woman gathered water and brought it to the younger and began wiping her brow with a wet cloth. The younger woman lay on the ground in a fetal position, rocking in pain.

As the Rangers began to descend the slope, Diaz whispered again, "A single man coming up the road."

The Rangers froze and watched. He appeared to be the same man that kicked the medic earlier in the camp. The man was yelling and gesturing at the two women. The older woman pushed herself between the enraged man and the ailing medic lying on the ground. With a mighty sweep of his hand, the man struck the older woman. Surprisingly she did not fall but only stumbled. Raising his rifle butt in preparation to hit her again, he was distracted by the ailing woman on the ground. She yelled something and slowly pulled herself up, pushed the old lady aside, and waiting for the inevitable rifle butt to crash onto her. She could not evade his blows between her weakened condition and the shackles on her ankles.

The American medic did not cry out but fell to the ground, not resisting the continued attack. When the rifle stock broke, the man was furious. Tossing the weapon aside, he began kicking the injured woman who remained mute.

The Rangers were on the move from the first strike on the older woman. Repelling down the slope so quietly, the man did not hear them. When the man noted movement, he pulled his only other weapon from between his shoulders, a choora, a 9 inch dagger. Not wanting to risk the rifle sound that would alert both the villagers and the gypsies of their presence, Manoso pulled his own choora from his back between his shoulder blades. As Brown and Dias tended Malika, Voss worked to open the shackles. Sherman and the other Ranger stood guard in case Manoso failed.

The older woman sat dazed from her beating, not understanding what was happening. The moonlight was not sufficient for her cataract-clouded eyes to see what sounded like fight. She could only listen to the occasional clashing metal. Strangers in dark robes had placed themselves between Malika and the fighting men.

The Turkmen grunted and cursed as he fought. He was more clumsy, displacing stones on the ground and shuffling his feet. Manoso remained quiet, saying nothing and causing little sound as his feet seemingly danced atop the rocks. Occasionally the moonlight reflected off one of the swiftly moving daggers. Suddenly the battle noise stopped. The coppery smell of blood filled the night air. The men tending Malika raised their weapons, fearing Manoso had lost, and the crazed man would come after them.

"Clear," Manoso whispered, letting his companions know he was OK. Once the blood quit flowing from the severed carotid artery, Manoso wiped his blade on the dead man's clothing. Sherman joined Manoso dragging the body to the edge of a drop-off and throwing it over. The doctor's released shackles soon followed.

Since the medic Brown was still tending Malika, Manoso examined the older woman for injuries. Filling the water vessel with fresh water, he moistened his keffiyeh or smaug and washed the woman's cuts. Pulling her cloak closed to ward off the night's chill, he took back his scarf, turned, and joined the other Rangers as they carried Malika up the slope and away from Sayat. The rescuers had to move quickly to be far from the village, and the gypsies before their helicopter arrived, hopefully before sunrise.

Sabrina sat in shock. Her mind was trying to make sense of what had just happened. Ene had continually beaten Malika the way he abused his previous wives. None of the women lived to bear him children. However, never his wife, Ene, impregnated Malika through rape, but the beatings continued. The child died in her womb, but the fetus remained. Wracked with fever from infection and in continued pain, Ene forbade Malika to be taken to a medical facility hours away.

Knowing her time to die was at hand, Malika wanted to die away from the village, but Ene followed. He started to beat Sabrina, claiming she was trying to aid his woman's escape. Somehow, Malika and stood and pushed Sabrina aside while taking the full brunt of Ene's wrath in hopes of hastening her death.

Sabrina knew once Malika died, Ene would turn his wrath back onto her. Would the members of the camp expel Ene and his men? She did not fear for her life. She was old, as was her husband, Ruslan. She feared if Ene gained power, the tribe would become radicalized. In turn, the state authorities would sweep down and force the tribe to move to Afghanistan amid the fighting. The tribe remained north of the great river only through Ruslan's pacifist leadership.

As Ene expelled his wrath onto the village healer, Sabrina prayed to Allah to be merciful to Malika and take her quickly. Suddenly Mikhail, the warrior angel, appeared from the sky, pulled his sword, and began fighting Ene. As Mikhail fought Ene, metal clashing and flashing in the moonlight, Azreal, the angel of death, and his assistant also descended from the sky to wrap Malika in a death shroud while other angels stood guard. Sabrina cried quietly, "Allah be praised. He has sent Azreal for my daughter and Mikhail to avenge her."

Suddenly the sounds stopped. Sabrina smelled blood's coppery scent. Angels do not bleed, Mikhail had prevailed. Ene was dead. Before she could cry out in thanks, Mikhail came to her. His clothing was dark. She could not make out his face, but it seemed odd, surely unearthly. Manoso kept his night vision equipment over his face helping hide his identity. He wiped away the blood from the older woman's face with a cool cloth, adjusted her robe around her, giving her warmth. Suddenly as they appeared, avenging angels were gone back into the sky, taking Malika with them. Sabrina pulled her arms around herself. Malika was with Azreal, and Mikhail had avenged her death. Allah was merciful. Slowly she drifted into sleep.

Aslan, the tribal elder, woke before sunrise to relieve his aged bladder. His wife of 60 years, Sabrina, was not at his side. Perhaps there had been an emergency, and she and Malika were tending the ill. Aslan went to Ene's trailer. Out of respect, he knocked. The door was unlatched and swung open. Aslan called as a courtesy, but there was no reply. He went in. His heart clenched, seeing the chain restraints bolted to the floor. Not only was Malika shacked during the day, but she was also restrained at night, sleeping on the floor.

The tribe's other women were up preparing to go to the spring. Aslan went with them thinking Sabrina and Malika had gone for water, and Ene was guarding them. After the trek up the trail, they found Sabrina bruised but alive.

"Where is Malika?" Ruslan asked.

Sabrina muttered, "She has gone with Azrael."

"She's dead?" he gasped.

"Ene killed her and the baby in her womb. He then tried to kill me, but the angels came. Azrael came and wrapped her in a shroud while Mikhail fought Ene, avenging Malika. Praise Allah."

The other women present thought Sabrina crazy until somebody saw the shattered rifle butt on the ground and blood-splattered rocks. They looked over the cliff edge to the river below. A body was visible. When the villagers worked their way down to the river, they found Ene. Nearby lay Malika's bloody shackles.


	4. Chapter 4

The Rangers moved quickly and quietly as each helped carry the stretcher. Brown, the medic, held the IV in one hand, the other taking the litter. He was worried. His patient's skin color was grey but flushed pink with fever. He could smell the infection coursing through her body. Though barely conscious, the flight surgeon's eyes never left the medic. Hoping to increase her will to live, Brown said confidently, "We are going to evac you to Bagram as fast as we can. Do you understand?"

With all her strength, Malika uttered one word, "Sepsis." Blood poisoning was the cause of the fever. Was she saying their efforts would be in vain since sepsis poisoned the whole body?

He had used all his medical skills, and now it was down to personal strength. Passing his hold on the litter to another Ranger, Brown too her hand in his, perhaps he could will the medic to hang on. He felt a zing travel up his arm to his chest causing him to gasp. It wasn't an electrical shock to his nervous system. It was more like an awakening or opening between two universes.

Her eyes were barely open. She was fighting to stay conscious by concentrating on his face. He, in turn, was drawn to her hazel eyes. The brown shade was more amber with flecks of gold. The green was dull, not a good sign. Her intense stare, though muted by pain, infection, and drugs, bore into him as if she was pulling strength from him. The medic knew his without his personal energy, she would slip away. But there was something else tugging at him, draining him. He had seriously wounded patients before but this feeling as alien. Was this the primal force that brings man and woman together? It was a feeling of completion. Were their souls communicating? God created Adam but knew man needed a helper, a companion, someone to complete His creation. Was this woman, who lay dying on the litter, his completion? Was his journey back to Eden to be this short? Perhaps what he saw in her hazel eyes was only a glimpse of what awaits him in eternal life.

The rescuers needed to get several kilometers away from the village for the rescue helicopter to be unseen. But the Air Force doctor would not last much longer. The Pave Hawk helicopter appeared suddenly from behind a hill. Instantly everyone piled into the aircraft, and they were airborne again. The two Air Force Pararescue medics now assisted Brown. Malika kept her head turned towards Brown as if breaking the connection would cause her end. As the aircraft touched down at Bagram, more hands were available to move the litter to the waiting ambulance.

Brown stood alone, watching the retreating ambulance. The emptiness was total as if he was thrust into the distant universe with blackness as his companion. "Hell is not fire and brimstone," the chaplain said during basic training. "It is the complete absence of light, God's light." Yes, Robert Brown suddenly understood. Was she his beacon, a reminder that among the horrors here, there can be something better.

"How bad?" The voice was distant. He almost missed it. Turning his head, he saw Lt. Manoso looking at him as if expecting an answer. Medic Robert Brown shook his head and looked up to the sky, "I don't know why she is still alive."

**10years later**

Major Malika Arkadyevna was bone tired. Since her transfer to the New York VA hospital in Albany six months ago, she had little time off. The hospital administer told her they were short-handed in surgery. What he did not say was they were beyond short, they were severely understaffed both in surgeons and nurses. Rapidly increasing workloads from geriatric WWII vets, aging Korea and Viet Nam vets, plus the workload from the Middle East wars do not leave time for much staff R&R. She had barely explored the town and knew nothing about the areas beyond. An avid outdoors woman, the work reducing the hospital's backlog was nearly nonstop. R&R would have to wait until Christmas.

The season's first snow came in early October and was unusually heavy. Normally the lake kept the heavier storms until later when the water froze. The snow never melted before the next storm, and subsequent storms added to the load. Albany resembled a polar station with snow piled high along the roadways, and it wasn't yet Thanksgiving. Malika needed to be outside more than in out of her car for commuting to work and grocery shopping. Who knew choosing between broccoli and kale could be so mentally relaxing?

She had done her mental relaxation shopping before coming to work. Her pantry staples were bare. A trip to Costco allowed her to stock up on nonperishables. The giant containers of oatmeal, flour, dried fruit, toilet paper would be left in the car for 14 hours...if she were lucky to get out in 14 hours. Tomorrow she would go to the smaller retail grocery and get perishables such as fresh produce, eggs, milk, and piece or two of fish. She didn't need Costco's giant produce bags. Her apartment refrigerator was small.

In her previous assignment, she regularly had fish, fresh-caught trout from the streams in Montana. She enjoyed the area. The people were friendly, magnificent vistas, and relaxed atmosphere. Now she was back near the East Coast where there were more people and life was more hectic. She had resisted coming east wanting to stay far from Russian immigrant settlements least someone knew her former stepfather Arkady Babaev. She was sure there were no Russian mobsters in Helena, Montana, but had far less confidence in Albany. She would keep a low profile here and would try for a transfer far from population centers in her next assignment.

As she passed by a window in the nurse's station, she saw the snows had begun again. How many storms had they had since October first? On the other hand, perhaps it really one giant storm, like Noah's Flood, and they would all be buried.

"I'm going to have to start bringing my snowmobile to work," the floor supervisor said as she walked up behind Malika.

"Or dog sled," Malika huffed.

"Don't you cross country ski, Major? Maybe you could ski to work."

"The road salts are murder on the skis. Perhaps I should hitch a saucer sled to your snowmobile. That could be fun."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," the nurse said as she walked away.

Though overworked, Malika was very content with her job. She had no interest in climbing up the military hierarchy to run a hospital. Early indications she would be a Lt. Colonel in June. She had mixed feelings about a promotion. As a major, she headed the surgery department. Lt. Colonels often end up as assistants running the hospital. She would prefer to remain a major. Unmarried and with modest interests outside of work, she made do on her salary, stashing money aside for retirement. Her bio- father, Ivan Rostov, had left her an inheritance, untouched but invested wisely. Where would she retire? Looking out the window at the horizontal snow, she thought someplace sunny and semi-tropical sounded ideal.

Flipping down the cover on her laptop, she had all her notes posted, patients updated, and tomorrow's schedule reviewed. Looking at the clock on the wall, she let out a silent woohoo! She was going home after "just 12 hours work." She had changed out of her scrubs after the last surgery, ready for a rapid escape whenever it came. She grabbed her outdoor jacket, gloves, and hat from her office and headed towards the elevator, "See you tomorrow, Sheila," she called out to the medical assistant at the desk.

"Drive carefully, the roads are slippery," Sheila responded. "Still," Sheila added as an afterthought.

As Malika walked down the hall towards the exit to the parking lot, she grabbed her wallet to check if she needed to get cash. The moment she looked down, two men stepped out from a door recess and sprayed her with pepper spray.

Blinded by the spray, she felt someone grab her upraised arm and put a bag over her head. Another person started to put her into an arm lock. She pushed back and head-butted the person holding her. When he released her, she removed the head cover but was still blinded by the spray. The second man, much bigger and stronger, picked her up and slammed her onto the floor, but before he could hold her down, she rolled, kicked the man who threw her down. Rising, she found the broken nose man holding a knife.

When the knife came towards her, she dodged deflecting the man's hand, but her watery eyes kept her from seeing the short club in the man's other hand. The club crashed into her throat just under her chin. She fell back to the ground and rolled just as the club was to have caught her again. Out of instinct, she lashed out with her leg, catching the broken nose man's knee sending in inward. The man yelled a curse in Russian. Continuing to roll, she regained her feet. The fractured nose man still had his knife and began to swing it back and forth. She tried evading it, but between the spray and the hit to the throat, she was slow. The knife's sting was sharp. Grabbing the man's hand, she thrust hard between the thumb and forefinger, breaking the joint. Then she twisted and broke the wrist. More Russian swear words filled the air as the knife tumbled to the floor. Malika kicked it down the hall. Breathing was nearly impossible, but she had an opportunity to escape. The first man was trying to stand and hop on one leg, the other leg was bent at a funny angle. Both men were injured and cursing her in Russian.

She stumbled for the exit, feeling her way with her hand on the wall as her vision was still compromised. She had to get away, away from the hospital, away from Albany. They found her just as in Bagram years before. They would not take her back to Ene.

Putting her car into drive, she sped out of the parking lot, turning right though her apartment was left. She had no idea where to hide, her mind raced as she watched the rear view mirror for the other car. She drove aimlessly watching, trying to keep panic from overtaking her. Where was somewhere safe? Where was a police station? A strange sensation, fear, was threatening to take over. She needed to breathe! "_Dearest Malika," Ivan began in her head, "The body needs God's breath inside. Holding your breath and tensing your body repels His healing."_

Breathing was difficult, her throat was swelling, and her nose was not taking in air. There was no time to worry, she had to escape. Traffic was heavy for this late hour. As she slowed, a white car pulled alongside and slammed into her. Slipping and sliding, she raced ahead. Other cars honked out of anger at either her or the vehicle, trying to knock her off the road. The car smashed into her again, erasing any doubt these were the kidnappers. Once again, she had to concentrate on her breathing.

The white car tried to follow weaving in and out of traffic lanes. A more massive truck could not react in time to avoid the wildly-driven white coupe. The collision knocked the coupe into an overhead bridge support. Malika did not see the car leave the road and kept driving, not knowing if any of the white cars around her were the pursers. She needed to get away from Albany, the hospital, from the Russians, and away from Arkady Babaev. How had he found her so soon?

Malika drove on. She drove hypnotized by the headlights reflecting off the snowflakes. Snow was hitting the underside of her vehicle, but she couldn't hear it. She needed a place to hide. Her mind became more confused. The road signs meant nothing to her just as they had in Turkmenistan when she escaped Ene. She would find Maseri-i-Sherif and contact the US military. Instead, the roads became smaller, and the forest encroached. This was not Turkmenistan, this was Russia! The homes tucked in the trees were _dachas_ where Arkady's co-conspirators lived. They would report she was near. He would come with others and take her back to Ene.

Her own injured condition was sapping her strength, but she had to escape. Suddenly there was no road, only air. Her SUV began to tip over the embankment, falling into the black abyss. Hitting her head on the steering wheel, she was stunned. When she came to, she felt for the flashlight in the glove box between the seats. Examining herself in the mirror, she was horrified at the amount of blood on her chest and lap. Pain in her face made her want to cry out, but her jaw did not work. A large scalp wound extended from the occipital bone through the ear, leaving her ear in two pieces. No wonder there was so much blood!

She needed medical help, but her cell phone had no reception, nor could she get the car door open. Climbing to the back seat, she felt for her emergency survival kit. Inside she had medical supplies, food supplies, extra protective clothing, and a sleeping bag along with other winter survival gear. Wrapping her head to control the bleeding and wrapping an elastic bandage under her chin and over here head, she stabilized her broken jaw. Weeping not only from the pain, but because she knew Ivan would be upset she had allowed to the men to injure her. Crawling into her sleeping bag, she would rest until the storm passed.

Digging her way out of the car a day, two, or three later, she discovered the near-continuous snow had covered her tire tracks. Which way had she come? She needed a place where a fire could provide warmth. The deep snow prevented travel, so, using her knife and branches from the numerous trees and shrubs, she made snowshoes. With the ability to walk through the deep snow, she could explore farther. Finding the old very small one-room cabin was a lifesaver. There was a small metal box stove inside. The stove and pipe within the building were intact, the pipe outside was corroded, but outside. Carbon monoxide poisoning would be lessened. Digging through her gear, she found a survival saw and harvested dead wood and twigs. She could have heat! Over many days she transferred her food and equipment to the cabin. She had one steel container she could cook in or melt snow. A few water bottles would hold melted snow if kept near but not close to the firebox. Survival materials came from the car; upholstery fabric, foam cushioning, wire, anything that would be useful in survival was stripped from the vehicle. For food, she had the dry goods from Costco, but she could not open her jaw. It had begun to fuse shut.

Finding herself isolated, she concentrated on gathering more firewood and trapping protein. She watched for animal tracks to set traps. Even a small animal could be pounded into liquid and mixed with flour or oatmeal to make gruel to suck between her teeth. She would have to use all the survival skills she learned in survival training until someone found her or the roads were again passable. She was injured, lost, stranded, but most importantly, hopefully, safe from those pursuing her.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Ranger was in the wind for at least six months. He knew this mission would be brutal, and if he survived, he was not renewing his contract. He did not tell Stephanie, but instead pleaded with her to remain in his apartment where she would be safe, and his men could help her overcome his possible death. "Babe, please make my apartment yours. Decorate it any way you want. Strangers are not going to break through your door or window. You and Julie are the most important women in my life. I don't want anything to happen to either of you."

"I'll be OK in my apartment," she answered.

"Since becoming a bond agent, you have never been safe in your apartment. People, bad people, know where you live and have ready access to the building due to poor security. How many people have broken in or shot explosives through your window? How many times have your cars gone to car heaven sitting in the unsecured parking lot? Please, I do not want to lose you. Knowing you are safer keeps is one less concern I have to carry. Make Haywood your new home. Our home."

"Make it our home?" What was Ranger saying? She was confused as she continued over analyzed everything. It was one reason she was so good at research, but it also inhibited her heart. Maybe his heart was thawing towards commitment, but hers had mixed feelings. She was divorced from a cheating SOB husband. Morelli was a hot-tempered, possibly cheating SOB, but who professed, on occasion, he might marry her. Up to now, Ranger repeatedly stated he was not "into" relationships, but yet they had an increasingly closer friendship. Time and again, he offered to share his closet, and she did have several outfits there. Was this more? Maybe his stance on relationships was thawing. "Ranger, I'll think about it," was all she was willing to commit at this time.

For the past 14 years, Manoso saw his life ending in some shithole country. He could not see himself stopping this work. Due to the horrible things he had to do, he considered himself unworthy of ordinary life and built walls not to become emotionally involved with anyone, including his family. But in the last five years, he had had another conflict. He was falling for the lovely woman with the brown curls and big blue eyes. His dangerous life would put her in harm's way, just as it did with his daughter's. Julie had a family and Rangeman Miami's protection. Stephanie moving into the Haywood Street building, would have Rangeman Trenton for protection if she allowed.

With Stephanie, he was beginning to see a possible new life. Not an eternal life as promised in his childhood Catechism classes, he saw an Earthly life with her. He wasn't sure if marriage was possible, but more and more he felt he would always need her, beside him.

Before leaving on the long assignment, Ranger called Frank Plum, Stephanie's father, and asked if they could talk. Frank said his wife and crazy mother in law would be at the beauty parlor from 10 until Noon. Frank would meet Ranger in the garage in case the woman came home early. Ranger found Mr. Plum working on Big Blue, the 1953 Buick.

"Ranger," was all the greeting he received. Frank did not offer Ranger his hand.

Ranger's mission was too great to be offended by Mr. Plum's indifference. "Sir, the few times I've come to your dinner table and Joe Morelli was present, I watched you. You seem to disapprove of Joe as a possible husband for your daughter."

"I don't know what you are talking about," Frank said as he continued to work on the car's carburetor, a relic from older cars. It would be another twenty years before Buick would move from carburetors to fuel injection.

"You have engaged in more conversations with me than with Joe. You don't look at him." Ranger knew Frank rarely made eye contact with anyone and was surprised the few times Frank talked to him.

Frank continued loosening the bolt, "His father was an abuser, beating his wife and children. I don't trust the son didn't inherit some of that."

"Have you seen any indication there's a problem?" Ranger asked.

Frank glanced up for a moment, "No, not directly, but the Burg gossip finds its way to my cab and the lodge. No man should be yelling at a woman in public the way he does with my daughter."

"You've said nothing to him or her about it."

"She's a grown woman," Frank mumbled as he returned to the chore under the hood.

Ranger wanted to cross his arms over his chest but had to keep open in hopes of getting Frank Plum to open up himself. Ranger shook his head in disagreement, "In many ways, she is, but not totally. She yearns for her mother's love, acceptance, and trust. Her marriage was to satisfy her mother's directives and find maternal acceptance. Instead, she found more heartache and recrimination. Your daughter's heart yearns for acceptance, respect, and love but does not trust her mind to accept it. Stephanie is an individual, even unique, but is beaten down by the Burg's conformity expectations."

"Are you here to lecture me?" Frank asked, turning his head and resting his arm on the car's body, looking into Ranger's eyes. "Or are you going to do something about it?"

Ranger was surprised at the challenge. His discussion was going better than he expected. "Until now, neither she nor I have been willing to step up totally. She is afraid of being hurt again and holds me at arm's length, referring to me as her friend. I have told her repeatedly I cannot do relationships, not realizing I have broken my boundaries and am already in one with her." Ranger didn't know how much more he could tell Frank. His work was secret, but on occasion, Babe had mentioned her father was in the Army. "Sir, I do work other than Rangeman."

Frank put down his wrench and wiped his hands on a cloth. "Are you a military government contractor?"

Ranger was stunned but held his neutral face. "Yes, sir. That's all I can say."

"Your street name, Ranger, controlled manner, physique, and frequent absences led me to believe you might be doing special ops. I was Special Forces in Viet Nam. When I was about to be released, I was approached by others, but turned them down."

For the first time, Ranger stared at Frank Plum, especially his eyes. For a brief moment, he saw a Green Beret warrior; a man steeled physically and mentally. The image faded again in the resignation of a life filled with disappointment. "Sir, I'm leaving soon and will be gone for six or seven months, at which point my contract will have expired. I do not intend to sign another. When I return, I want to devote 100% of myself to your daughter. She is an amazing, intelligent, and capable woman who needs someone devoted to her, who will support her in her quests and not hold her back. I love her and have for some time. I want to be the man who helps become the person she wants but can't find her way."

The two men remain silent, but the communication continued between them. Frank saw himself several decades earlier as a man with a strong moral code and devotion to his country and military service. But when he retired, all he wanted was a wife and family. While he provided the monetary support, he failed in leadership, allowing Burg traditions for guidance. One did not go against the Burg canons. Frank Plum had led men in Viet Nam, supervised employees at the Post Office, but failed to provide leadership for his family. Perhaps Viet Nam had broken him. The military did not have the mental health care it now has. Returning to the familiar Burg and its heritage was the only way to mend. "Why are you telling me and not my daughter?"

"Sir, to earn her mother's love and acceptance, she believes she must sacrifice her own life and happiness to marry Joe Morelli. I have been wrong thinking Joe would keep her safe in a loving home. I have sent her from my arms to his on numerous occasions."

"Is my daughter in danger with you?"

Ranger hesitated. He knew his past had already intersected with their life, would more come? "She seems to find danger on her own, but a few of her problems could be traced back to my company or me. She is extremely astute and intelligent, but for some reason, fights my help or my men's' help in developing safety skills. I assume it is from her relationship with her mother, the Burg, and her need to prove herself by herself. She hates directives, probably the result of her mother's dictates. My men and I can keep her safer than what she can do on her own."

Frank always preferred Ranger to Morelli but never intervened in his wife's choice of Morelli being the best choice or only option. He suspected his wife was a bigot and racist as well as a selfish Burg woman. The man in his garage was not the thug Helen and the Burg called him. Yes, he probably did and did some unspeakable things, but then so had he when necessary. It was something most people judged without understanding.

Frank extended his hand to Ranger. Though Frank had become fleshy, his hand grip was firm. "When you return from this mission, take care of my daughter. Help her become the woman she was born to be. I failed her, don't you." As Ranger walked away, Frank watched him. There went a man, a true man just as he had once been. He was born and raised here and would die here if he had not already.

Frank Plum sat on an old crate in the garage and thought about his life. Helen Mazur was young, beautiful, and considered a prime candidate for any man looking for a family. Though not Italian, she lived in Chambersburg. While she was an exemplary homemaker at least by Burg standards, she dominated her children. Frank had assumed they would have two children, a beautiful daughter and a rambunctious son he could take to hockey games, and perhaps hunting. Instead, he had a second daughter. Before he realized the second daughter could fulfill his desires for the adventuresome son, Helen had hooked her to the Burg line. But like a giant fighting Marlin in the ocean, Stephanie resented being snagged and had made all their lives miserable.

His curly-haired daughter was unique, filled with an uncontrollable drive that undirected and untrained led her from one calamity to another. She always fought for acceptance but could not conform to the Chambersburg standards. Ranger was right; Stephanie hated taking orders. Burg women did not have careers, they married and became pregnant hopefully in that order, but if it got screwy, marriage cured all as happened with his other daughter, Valerie. Their education centered on the house, cooking the proper ethnic meal for the family, attending church and women auxiliary, shopping locally, keeping the house spotless, and never living outside of the Burg.

Cracks appeared in Helen Plum's façade when her blue-eyed daughter Stephanie was born. The pregnancy and birth were difficult as if the infant started life testing the boundaries. She detested breast milk forcing Helen to bottle-feed her surreptitiously contrary to Burg ways. Her "Terrible Two's" began at 14 months and continued to the present if you believed Helen. She bucked all traditions acting like a wild tomboy than a quiet Burg girl.

Helen Plum did not know how to cope. Her inability to control the little girl eroded the love and resulted in harsher treatments and punishments. Spankings were frequent even though public opinion was growing against such practices, except in the Burg. At least Helen had a respectful daughter in Valerie. Countless times Stephanie heard, "Why can't you be more like Valerie?"

The mother-daughter bond was nearly broke in Stephanie's sixteenth year. According to Helen, Stephanie had become a slut and had sex with Joseph Morelli at Tasty Pastry bakery. Her punishment was grounding for the entire summer.

Helen's world began to shatter when the perfect daughter Valerie married Steve, a nice Burg boy, and moved to California. People did not leave the Burg! Still, Valerie quickly bore two daughters, and even though Helen only saw the granddaughters when they came to visit, never the Plums going to California, it was enough knowing Valerie knew how to raise the "proper" daughters.

The wayward daughter, Stephanie, had insisted on going to college. She did well initially but failed at the end, barely graduating. She and Dickie Orr had met during her third year at Douglas. The surprise pregnancy in her senior year frightened Stephanie and Dickie. While they quickly updated their plans for a wedding, the pregnancy miscarried. The wedding date returned to the following June. Stephanie finally had Burg respect, and Helen rose in the Burg hierarchy. That position fell when Stephanie refused to overlook her husband's indiscretion. Stephanie Plum was again the poster child of a wayward daughter, hitting an all-time low becoming a bond apprehension agent for her cousin Vincent Plum who was the Burg's ultimate bottom dweller.

Helen fell further into despair when her perfect daughter, Valerie, returned home with her two daughters and a failed marriage. She quickly became pregnant by a non-achieving lawyer named Kloughn and did not marry him until after the child's birth, staining the birth certificate with separate parent's names. The Burg humiliation did not fall on Valerie, but on Helen for having another failed daughter.

Frank chuckled, where would Helen's position be if his younger daughter married the Cuban, a thug in the Burg's eyes? In the meantime, he would keep his mouth shut, something he had perfected over the decades. As he told Ranger, Stephanie must lead her own life. Frank sighed. Initially, he used his job to ignore Helen's rants. The increasing hearing loss made her tirades less understandable, especially if he removed his nearly invisible hearing aids before entering the home.

An early morning cab customer finally knocked Frank Plum into action. "Frank Plum," the customer said, looking at Frank's cab license. "Would you be related to Stephanie Plum, the bond apprehension agent?"

Frank was girding himself for an insult about his daughter. "Yes, she is my daughter."

"You must be proud of the work she does. I work for the state's criminal justice division. You know she has the best bond apprehension percentage than anyone on the state. She should be working for a larger company in Newark or even the US Marshalls, but instead stays with the insignificant Vincent Plum agency."

"She's a Burg woman."

"Not hardly! I was born here. My father was Alberto Jacobo, very much like Anthony Morelli."

Frank remembered Alberto Jacobo. He worked at the Roebling factory like so many men did years ago. He was a hot-tempered, barrel-chested man who spent too many hours at the local bars often ending the nights in fisticuffs. Rumors were his temper carried to his home life. One night he came home drunk and fell down the steps, drunk, breaking his neck. That was the official cause of death. Many believed his wife helped his fall as she was hiding behind extra-thick makeup at the funeral.

The passenger gave Frank a few moments to put the name and family together, mentally before continuing. "After my mother remarried, we moved to Newark, finding a different world beyond Chambersburg. It would be a travesty if your daughter were to marry such a womanizing police detective as Morelli."

"Womanizing?"

"Oh hell yes, he trolls the town like an alley cat. He keeps his diversions away from the TPD, the Burg, and the gossipers. But then again, he has already conquered the women his age in the Burg. He started notching his dick in junior high school."

Frank looked in the rear-view mirror noting his passenger was Valerie's age or a little older. "You knew him in school?"

"He was a bully in grade school, but looking back, it was probably because of his home life. When he reached adolescence, he had no direction except where his cock pointed. It still does. As far as being a detective, he is adequate. Initially, he barely made detective, but after his association with your daughter, his abilities seem to have improved. I and several others question how often she has aided his cases."

For the next week, Frank researched his daughter and Joe Morelli without talking to his wife. Several days later, he called his daughter, "Meet me for lunch."

"At Pino's?" she asked with hope and confusion in her voice. Her father had not invited her out to lunch for eight years, before her marriage to Dickie Orr.

"No. We need to be away from the Burg. Do you think your car will make it to Hopewell?"

"It might."

I'll pick you up at the mall. We'll go together."

She met her father outside the mall, "We could eat someplace here."

"No, I don't want to be seen. We are going to Hopewell Valley Vineyard for lunch."

Stephanie looked closely, was this her father? Then her mind flashed, was there something wrong? Was he ill? Was her mother ill?

Once seated at the restaurant adjoining the vineyard, he ordered a glass of wine for her and water for himself. He was a cab driver and could not risk his license, even on a single glass of wine or a beer. "Pumpkin, my eyes were opened several days ago. I had a cab fare that enlightened me into your life in the Burg. I have ignored you nearly all of your life, never realizing how difficult it has been for you. Yet you have become an amazing woman except in the eyes of the Burg harpies led by your mother."

"It continues to be trial by fire, Dad," she said as her eyes cast down at the table.

"I need to know what I've missed all these years. Let's start with running Joe over with the Buick."

Not raising her eyes, she mumbled, "It was an accident."

"No, I suspect otherwise. Joe did something to you before he went into the Navy. It's time we are honest with each other."

Stephanie looked up. How much did her father know or not know? His eyes were pleading, something she had never seen before. By the time they got to dessert, Frank had to slam down his Green Beret-trained neutral face. "Stephanie," he began. "After I was clued me in on your life, I began remembering the rumors about Joe at the lodge. I ignored them, but since I have done my investigation into one Joseph Morelli. Contrary to what your alcohol blinded mother believes as well as the brain dead Burg-collective, Joe is not husband material, nor is he even acceptable boyfriend material. I'm only suggesting you need testing for sexually transmitted diseases."

"STDs? What do you know?"

"Joe is sexually active with many other women."

Stephanie looked down, "I've suspect such. It has been going on since junior high school. When we are together, I insist he wears a condom. Once he gets married, I'm sure he'll be a good husband."

"Does a tiger change his stripes? Are you planning to use a condom for your entire marriage? Do you think he will rush home each day for his Nooner if it involves traveling across the city when one of his other women is close? My friends and I have been following him for several days. Monogamous does not begin to describe his behavior." In the last sentence, Frank nearly spit in anger.

"Are you sure? He may be visiting his confidential informants?" she asked hopefully but doubting it.

Frank huffed, "Confidential sidepieces you mean. He has a harem of women waiting to service his needs. Many of whom you know, others live and work on Stark Street."

Stephanie looked at her empty wine glass wishing for a refill but remembering her father's alcohol avoidance when driving. She would have to drive from the mall back home. "I've suspected he and Terry Gilman have been together since high school."

"She is one, among others. Morelli's exploits have continued, unabated for years. My friends knew but kept it from me, fearing it would disturb what they thought were my plans for your marriage to that cazzo. (dick) Unless you want to be divorced faster than you were with Dickie Orr, you will not marry Joseph Morelli."

"Have you talked with Mom?"

"I think it is time you told her. She will fly off on her usual tirade, but this time I will back you up. When will you realize your life is not hers to control, nor does anyone in the Burg have a say-so in your life? It is time you stand up to her and the rest of the Burg. I have ignored what has been happening right under my nose for far too long. It was easier to shut my eyes and ears."

"But my friends?"

"What friends? Those like Connie Rosolli who gossip about you spreading Stephanie Plum stories through her family. Then there is the former whore who mooches meals from you? She hangs around you, not protecting you, then wags her tongue about you around town. Or, do you mean Mary Lou, who tries to keep a tight lip but tells Lenny who, in turn, spreads to his workers? Gossip spreads faster than a wildfire in this community."

Stephanie always suspected Connie and Lula were quick to share what they knew about her. News of Mary Lou and Lenny was crushing. "No, the others."

"What others?"

"The guys at Rangeman. They have been my mental support more times than I care to mention."

"Like Ranger?" Frank asked with a smile on his face. "I think he's more than a friend, Pumpkin."

What did her father know? Yes, Ranger had been to the Plum dinner table much to her mother's dismay and grandmother's delight. "What do you mean?"

"I see the admiration, even love in your eyes for him."

Stephanie shook her head, "He's not into relationships."

Frank chuckled, "He's in love with you, but conflicted. He is still in military mode. I recognize it. Since he's not active service and not relaxed enough for Reserves, he must be doing contract work." No way Frank would tell her about Ranger's garage visit.

Stephanie looked at her father with surprise.

"Pumpkin, I've looked into Ricardo Carlos Manoso. I called friends who are still in service or recently retired. They refused to talk about him. It was all I needed to know. He can't continue to physically or mentally continue what he is doing. Maybe his spirit is willing, but after 30, field ops become too stressful on the mind and body. He will have to retire or die. Can you wait for him?"

She shrugged, "Yes, if I knew he would be with me. We have been growing closer, but his work keeps us from growing together. He sent me back to Joe, saying he would keep me safe."

"That, my dear, is a giant pile of horse pucky to use Edna's term. When has Joe kept you safe?"

"He rescued me from the cement."

"That was once in how many years?

Stephanie had to think. Had Joe ever actively protected her, or was it more passive? "He lets me hide at his house."

"Are you certain his generosity didn't have more to do for on-demand sex?"

Stephanie's mouth hung open. This discussion is far more personal a conversation than she had ever had with either parent.

"I'm not saying Joe doesn't have feelings for you, but he's never been monogamous and never will. His father surely was not, and either is his brother or cousins. Pumpkin, I would sleep a lot better knowing someone like Carlos Manoso was in your life. Plus, his men will look after you when he is not around."

"So, you want me to end it with Joe?"

"You have to lead your own life, not one dictated by your mother, the Burg, or me. If you want to marry him, know he will screw other women the way Dickie did. Watching you marry Dickie about killed me. I knew what a bastard he was, but Helen insisted it was the best for you. He was a Burg man and had a promising future. Now she wants you to marry someone who molested you as a child and teenager. If you marry that bastard, know he will cheat on you and maybe even become more abusive than yelling at you in public or grabbing your arm. If you do marry, please do not add to my pain by bearing a Morelli child. Get your tubes tied, get an IUD before you marry him.

"He wants children."

"Fine, let it be children with someone else, not Plum. I was happy when Valerie and Steve moved from the Burg. I thought my grandchildren would be free of this place, but they are back in the swamp."

"What about Mother?"

"She is as Burg as they come, she'll never change. I tried several times to move us to Hamilton, but she would have nothing to do with it. Pumpkin, I love you though I have not demonstrated it since your childhood. Please, do not be trapped and drown here. You are a woman, your own woman, not someone's property. Your mother does not have the right to control your life."

"She's my mother."

Frank nearly exploded. "Damn it, listen to yourself! You are 34 years old but are acting like a child begging for attention from your mommy. I agree; she never gave you the love or support you needed. She can't. It is beyond her nature. Yet you continue to let her control you. She chose your first husband and is now trying to do the same. What have you done to show you are a mature woman? You allow your mother to spread gossip about you and rebuke you for not doing her bidding. You rely on her to do your laundry and feed you as if you still lived under our roof. How many times have you borrowed Big Blue from Edna? When will you become responsible for yourself? I have failed you. With this attempt to make amends, please listen, "Stephanie Plum, cut yourself free from the Burg leeches including your mother before you are dragged down and become an apathetic alcoholic or drug user like so many women here. There is a life out there and someone to share it. Will it be Ranger or someone else you have not yet met." Your mother does not script your life. It is time you grow up and stand up on your own."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Late October, Stephanie asked Joe for lunch away from the Burg. She had avoided him for several weeks as she continued meeting with her father, learning more about each other, and allowing him to guide her emotional development. Learning to take advice and direction without emotional kickback was hard. Frank began to realize the damage his overly harsh wife had done to his daughter. Both agreed she needed to break away from those who continually tried to control her beginning with the police detective.

Joseph Morelli, oozed his way onto the Sunset restaurant chair, a quiet eatery on Pennington, west of downtown Trenton. "Cupcake, where have you been? The boys have missed..."

Stephanie did not want to hear about the "boys" or Bob and quickly cut in, "I've been working Joe."

"Working so hard, you can't see me?" he schmoozed with a slightly hurt expression.

"Yes." She had to bite her tongue before adding more. The proper time for more words would present its self.

"Why are we meeting here? The roads are terrible with ice and snow. We should have met at Pino's. It is our spot."

Leveling her eyes at him, "Joe, we need to talk."

"Ah, Manoso finally kicked you to the curb and ..."

Stephanie was tired of Joe's lines, raising her hand to cut him off, "He's in Miami and has been for a while." It was her standard reply, as she could not reveal his government mission.

"No doubt he's expecting another drug shipment. So, have you taken up with one of the other thugs?"

In times past, she would have rolled her eyes with Joe's scripted dribble or shot to her feet, flapped her arms, and moved into rhino mode playing right into Joe's controlling hands. The new, more controlled Stephanie answered without theatrics, "No, Joe, I'm not with anyone right now."

Joe rocked back in his chair with a smug expression on his face. "Have you come to your senses and realized I'm the only one for you?"

Ignoring his comment, she continued, "I asked you to meet me to tell you our time together is completely over, forever. We will not be getting back together. You need to concentrate on your other girlfriends as our relationship is dead, muerte!"

Joe's eyes grew narrow, his shoulders began to tighten and rise, and his face became hard. "What other girlfriends?"

Now was time to drop the bomb, "Your so-called 'confidential informants' throughout town you visit regularly. I believe two live not far from here. Joe, since when does getting a blow job on Stark street count as police hours?" She slid a picture across to Joe of his back-alley antics.

"Have you been following me?" His hands were turning into fists once he glanced at the picture Stephanie had placed on the table.

"Your wandering ways are known here and beyond Trenton. Somebody not associated with TPD or Rangeman gave me names, locations, and pictures. Do you want to see the picture of Carmen DiAngelo in her nightgown at Noon as you walk out her front door? Another law enforcement agency was looking to hire you away from TPD, but they learned of your on the job sidepieces, and dropped you faster than burning coal."

"Who? What other agency? Tell me!" he said as he reached across the table and grabbed her arm.

She rotated her arm quickly, getting out of his grasp but tearing her blouse sleeve in the process. Several other customers were watching, wondering if they needed to intervene. One man got up, but Stephanie waved him away. She hissed, "Let's just say you will never work for the state or federal government. Do not mess up here, or the people who took these pictures might drop them on the Chief's desk. Your chances of getting another police job elsewhere would be zero."

Joe's eyes were feral. It frightened her. She didn't know if he was gearing up for a new tirade, feared for his job, or would attack her again. She was more confident in her decision to bury the relationship.

"The idea of our marriage was just an idea. We both knew it would not work but did not move forward. Joe, we had our chance. Like Dicky, you cannot keep your zipper closed," she began sweeping her hand over the picture. "You bought a pool table replacing the dining room table, knowing I hate the game. That is not something a man looking for marriage does to his intended wife. It is what a man who wants to hang out with the guys does. We have been spinning our wheels. We need to end the charade. You want a wife and children, or so you say. I don't want to be a mother or a housewife."

"That's ridiculous, Cupcake. That's all you can do."

Steph ignored the stab. "Joe, you are as trapped in Burg expectations as I am. In your mother's and my mother's minds, we are married. I thought your Grandmother Bella was crazy for trying to drive me away. In hindsight, I think she knows I am not right for you. If you stay here in the Burg, you need an old school girl, if there are any left, to marry who will look away from your indiscretions and give you the family and Burg respectability you are craving. Being a cop only goes so far. You are still Tony Morelli's son."

"Leave my father out of this," he snarled and banged his fist on the table. Once again, customers were looking at them.

"This is the first time I've ever mentioned your father, but it is on the Burg's tongue each time you yell at me in public. Joe, each time you come to one of my disasters, you have never asked me if I was injured? No, you immediately began yelling. Where is the concern for my safety?"

"You would be safe if you quit your ridiculous job."

"Do you realize each time I show up with a bruise on my face, people wonder, 'Did Joe hit her the way Tony hit Angie?"

"Leave him out of this! I am not like my father," he said adamantly. "I've never hit you."

"You have verbally abused me, in public no less. You have grabbed me and dragged me from the bonds office or at Pino's. Didn't you just grab my arm here? As a cop, you should have better control of your emotions. Joe, you are thirty-six years old. When are you going to quit chasing all the skirts and start a family?"

"I've been waiting for you to come to your senses."

"My senses? Don't you mean your senses as you repeatedly try to coerce me to be something I hate? We are at different ends. I like my job; you hate my job. You want a homemaker. I refuse to stay at home. You want kids. I don't. Joe, we have no middle ground, no shared goals.

The only thing we share is sex and Pino's. Have we ever done anything romantic? Do we go on dates, dancing, or to the movies? Have we ever walked hand and hand in the park or at the beach?"

"It's my job..."

"And I don't want to be stuck at home with a bunch of kids while you are constantly away doing your job or servicing some...woman...across town," Steph said more forcefully.

"I wouldn't..."

"Yes, you would, Joe. If I just delivered a child, I would be hands-off from intercourse for six weeks. You would be looking for others to service your boys. Would you be up all night dealing with projectile vomiting, spiking temperatures, or croup? Or would you put your job ahead of your child?"

Joe knew that was probably true. "That is a woman's job…" Suddenly he stopped. He was Old Burg thinking. Today men, outside of the Burg, are more engaged in raising children. He hears pussywhipped cops talking about changing diapers, taking a child to the doctor, walking a crying newborn around the house as the wife attempts to sleep, or building dollhouses. "So you are breaking up with me...again?"

"This is the final time. How many times have we broken up in the middle of the Burg, yelling at each other? By being away from prying eyes and ears, the news will be slow, reaching the Burg, giving you a chance to come to grips with the situation before my mother begins asking you to dinner. Speaking of which, when she calls, decline graciously. If I see you at the table, I will leave. My mother will throw a hissy fit, but, finally, my father will support me. He will be uncomplimentary verbal. He has ignored Burg rumors about our caustic relationship, but no more. Dad's opinion of you is lower than pond slime. Save yourself the trouble, do not show your face in the house again."

"But..."

"Joe, throw your lure back into the pool. You might find someone who can put up with your randy ways. Dickie burned me. My mother blamed me for leaving after I found him screwing Joyce. I will not tolerate being treated like that again. I've tried to stay honest with you. I admit I have had eyes on Ranger, but when you and I were together, Ranger was strictly hands-off. Can you tell me you were faithful to me during our off periods, let alone our on periods?"

"But, you still fucked him."

"Yes Joe, Ranger and I have had intercourse, twice over six years and none since Hawaii a few years ago. How many women or men have you had this week or this month? Why is it a guy can have mistresses or casual sex, but a woman can't? Each time you cheat on me, do you justify it by thinking Cupcake screwed Manoso or Cupcake kissed Manoso? Do you get fifty or one hundred bangs or blow jobs each time you think I've been unfaithful? Cheating is cheating. Whether it is blowjobs, sex, or kissing behind the bond's office, we have both done it to each other, indicating we are not a committed couple."

"Who is going to take care of you? You are incompetent. You are a terrible bounty hunter. You burned down a funeral home, fast food restaurant, and a diner."

"You know better, Joe. Grandma Mazur burned down Stiva's. The fry chef burned down Cluck in a Bucket, and the diner was solely Lula. If I'm so incompetent, how would that make me an ideal housekeeper, wife, and mother? Wouldn't you be afraid I'd set your house on fire, blow up the car, or misplace the children? All you want is a broodmare to kick out Morelli sons to carry on the family legacy of drunkenness and womanizing."

"I'm not a drunk."

"Your father was, and my mother is. Our grandmothers are crazy. What a wonderful gene pool we would have."

"So, what will you do?"

"Finally, grow up and see if there is life outside the Burg. I believed my destiny was in the Burg. But if I'm not married with children, I'm a pariah here. Maybe it's time I move on."

"You are leaving?" Joe gasped. It was his worst nightmare. She would leave Trenton.

"I'm leaving the Burg mentality, and if necessary, I'll leave the Burg. I have my father's encouragement and blessing. I'm trying to cut the mother-daughter apron strings."

Joe looked crestfallen. He understood their relationship was finally over. Maybe there was one angle he could employ to prey upon her feelings and save the day. "I thought we made a good couple."

Stephanie sighed quietly, "At most Joe, we were friends and thinking back to high school, and before, we should not have been friends. Might I offer a suggestion? Since you've contaminated the pool in the Burg and maybe Trenton with your wandering ways, look elsewhere for a wife. The less someone knows about you, the more likely you'll find a marriageable girlfriend, not just a warm pussy. On the other hand, Joe, you are 36, you'll need to work another 25 years at least to get your future little Morellis through school. I don't know many 61-year-old cops."

"I would hope to be in administration by then."

"Only from TPD, not any other law enforcement in the area. Your wandering ways are known far and wide. Nobody else will hire you. You've screwed that goose."

When the Burg residents noted Joe and Stephanie were not together, tongues started wagging. Stephanie brought her FTAs to the police station, but Joe was always unavailable. In the bonds office, the absence of Joe and Ranger was apparent. "We haven't seen Batman for a while," Lula hinted for gossip.

"He's at his other offices," Stephanie answered as she filled her coffee cup.

"Come to think about it, we haven't seen Officer Hottie recently," Lula mentioned as she looked over the doughnut selection.

"Detective Morelli must be busy with other cases," Stephanie said as she flipped through her newest FTA file.

"Uh oh, calling him a detective means you are fighting again," Lula continued.

"No. We've lost interest in one another. He wants a family. It won't be through me."

"Are you and Ranger together?" Connie asked as she carefully followed the conversation, ready to fire up the Burg grapevine.

"Has he been here recently?" Stephanie asked. "As I told Lula, Ranger is spending more time traveling to the various other Rangeman facilities in Miami, Boston, or Atlanta."

The doorbell rang, and Tank stepped in, brushing the snow from his bald head, "Good morning, ladies."

Lula quickly brushed the powdered sugar off her voluptuous chest and plastered on a big smile. "Tankie, I haven't seen you lately," Lula gushed.

With his granite face, he stared at her, "No." Never known to be verbose, the sharp response stung the air. Was the strident response no, they hadn't seen each other? Or was it no, he was no longer interested in her.

Lula didn't know how to respond. While her mind was stuck spinning in a loop, Stephanie picked up the Rangeman files and walked up to Tank, "Can we speak outside?"

Perhaps grateful for the diversion, he nodded. They went out the door together. They had to walk a few feet away from the office door to find enough snow-free sidewalk to stand and talk. Stephanie handed him the Rangeman files. He didn't look at them before saying, "Proceed." He suspected she was going to ask for news on Ranger. Instead, what she asked caught him by surprise.

Stephanie stood tall. "I've learned Connie and Lula are some of the biggest gossips spreading my life around town. I'm not comfortable here. Also, I've been reevaluating my life. Joe is gone, out of the picture, with my father's encouragement and blessing. Dad has been helping me view my life from a more mature view. Joe will never be faithful, and I cannot endure another cheating husband. Looking to the future, if I'm to support myself, I need a better paying job. I'm wondering if, well, perhaps now I'm willing to change.

"Full time?" he was not known to be long-winded.

"Ah, yes, eventually. I know I need physical training, but between searches and my business degree, maybe I can do office work until I pass the other parts."

"Not only is it physical training, but apprehension procedures plus weapon training. All are mandatory."

"Yes, sir, I know."

"Is this a ploy to get closer to Ranger?"

"Tank, for years, my mother has been pushing Morelli at me saying he'll be a "good provider." Do you know how demeaning that is? She was saying women cannot take care of themselves, especially me. I'm not looking for a bank account. I am looking for a job, even a career. If love comes along, it had better include honor, commitment, friendship, happiness, and shared goals. Ranger, Joe, and I have been dancing around each other for years. None of us is willing to step up and say, "I'm ready for a life together." Joe assumed we would marry and raise a family, but I know he will continue his unhonorable randy-ways. Ranger has made it clear he's not stepping up to the plate. He doesn't do commitments, but he wants me to move into his apartment for safety concerns. I don't know what that means. I hope it doesn't mean I become his sole fuck buddy. If that is all he can do, I will leave, but in the meantime, I need to be able to support myself."

Shit, this was what I've been warning the Boss about, Tank thought. Some day Little Girl will wake up and realize there is nothing more with Ranger. "What about Vinnie?"

"Ranger once said I was entertainment for Rangeman. I believe Vinnie feels the same way about me. Well, he can have Joyce Barnhardt for entertainment. She has yet to bring in a bond jumper, but she regularly jumps Vinny. If I want to be something other than the Burg fool, I need training and discipline. This is my last shot."

"And if I say no?"

She blinked. Ooops, what would she do? She needed to build herself esteem up, but she was not going to a factory job. Her brief time at the ice cream factory taught her assembly line work was not for her. "Then I'll leave Trenton immediately." She couldn't believe she said that! But really, what option did she have? A bank job? Waitress? Wherever she ends up, she won't be the poster child for Burg failure.

"Let me think about it. Come by tomorrow morning." Internally he was smiling but didn't want to let her see his happiness. Stephanie Plum has always needed discipline and training. She was finally thinking straight.

Her day's two FTA files were routine, except for having to run one down through the alleys. But she didn't get garbage thrown at her and came away with only a skinned elbow from the flying tackle take-down and a fair number of snowball strikes. She was tired of the icy streets and alleyways, and Halloween had yet to come.

The next day Stephanie was at Rangeman at 8:00. She surprised herself waking, dressing, and getting her doughnut allotment before 7:30. Even more surprising was her POS car started and didn't slip too severely on the way to Rangeman. Decent snow tires were a luxury she couldn't afford.

Tank was standing at the command center when the elevator door opened. He nodded and tilted his head to his office. She followed.

When Tank sat, he indicated she should close the door. "Up until the elevator door opened, I wasn't sure I was going to say yes. I know you are not a morning person, but working here, you will become one. We start work at 06:00. You are close today."

Stephanie had to glue her mouth shut least she shrieked, "Six AM?"

"I'll give you a week to adjust to the new work hour. After that, tardiness will adversely affect your continued employment."

"I understand, but if I work office or searches, do I need to be on the street with the morning shift?"

Tank thought a minute, "If you work in the business section on the second floor, your hours will be 08:00 to 17:00. While you train, you need six hours of work time and at least two hours for training each day. After training, if you pass, you will be at the morning briefings at 06:00.

"Wait, what is that in human time?"

"Plum, from 1 am to Noon, the numbers are the same. After Noon subtract 12, or if your math skills are slow, subtract two from the second number. 18:00 becomes 6 pm, 22:00 is 10 pm, 22:50 is 10:50 pm."

Shit, she thought, what a choice. Working business for 8 hours, crunching numbers would be butt-numbing boring. She wanted to be in apprehensions again, eventually. To do so would require getting up early, real early.

Tank continued further testing Stephanie's resolve. "If you chose to go into the business section on the second floor, there is an opening in accounting. However, your talents are with the search division. You have exceptional instincts. When you do our searches, our capture rate increases, and our client vetting is more thorough. If you pass the training and testing and become available for apprehensions, you will work with a Rangeman partner. No running off on your own. That is standard Rangeman procedure, non-negotiable, and failure will result in immediate termination."

The thought of being separated from Merry Men by being on the lower floors made up her mind quickly. "I'll work here on 5 with searches and whatever else you need. I understand the training requirements."

Tank nodded. "I was hoping you would say that. I believe you have clothing already here. Contact Ella about procuring more. Since there are no apartments available, you will continue to live on St. James. When an apartment becomes available, you may move."

"Ranger wanted me to move onto 7."

"Since you are not there now, I assume it is due to our earlier conversation. Right now, you are a recruit with a probationary period. I suggest keeping your relationship with Ranger separate while you and he prove your intentions when he returns."

She could understand his point. "Sir, what about Vinnie?"

"You said earlier, Joyce Barnhardt would take over your position."

"No, I mean, he needs to be told of my change in employment. He did help me when I was down. I feel like I'm abandoning him."

"You are, but it is a normal career progression. If you sign the contract, we will talk to Vinnie together. In your opinion, can Lula do low-level bonds?"

"Only the regulars like Dougie and Mooner and a few others. They are not aggressive, just forgetful or lonely."

"I will offer Vinnie a Rangeman team for the middle bonds as well as our usual high bonds. You will not be on the team at this time. Lula will have to decide what she wants to do. Reaching into his desk, he pulled out a folder. "This is your employment folder. Are you ready to read and sign the contract?"

Stephanie hesitated only a moment. To break the Burg shackles, she would need to improve herself and her skills. Wonder Woman was born from a goddess. Stephanie Plum was a lowly mortal born from the Burg. To be seen competent, she had to become qualified. Grabbing the pen, she signed the Rangeman contract.

-0-

Helen Plum tried to invite Joe for dinner. When he politely refused, Helen rebooted and began searching for suitable replacements. Frank finally began putting his foot down. When he noted an extra place setting, he texted his daughter, "Ambush." Stephanie knew to call her mother and say she was stuck with extra work, dead car battery, or other mishap and wouldn't be there for dinner. Occasionally Frank would excuse himself to go offer to help her, and together, they would dine outside the Burg.

Noting an extra place set at the table, Frank moved into the kitchen, a part of the house he rarely ventured. "Helen, there are two extra place settings at the table. I assume one is for Stephanie. Who is the other?"

"A nice young man who works at his father's dry cleaners. I think he would be good..."

"Stop right now! No more eligible bachelors at our dinner table, Helen."

"Frank, it isn't the Burg way to close our dinner table from guests," Helen complained. "Where are your manners? What will people say about us?"

"Guests are permitted but no more trying to find a match for Stephanie. You've got your life, let her have her own even if it is not your choice."

"If she doesn't marry Joe, who will want her?"

"It's not your concern, Helen. She never has and will never be a Burg woman. Maybe she'll leave town and find a better life. It's her choice."

"Leave the Burg? She belongs here, married, with children. Stephanie has always been disrespectful of her duties," Helen steamed, trying to cool her mind by adding more ice to her tea.

"No, Helen, you are disrespecting her. You've disrespected her all her life. She had different needs than Valerie, but you ignored them. All her life, you have pushed her to conform to a lifestyle you dictated. Your lifestyle. She is not your clone."

"Frances Plum, what has gotten into you?"

Frank stared at his wife for perhaps the first time in years and thought about his talk with Ranger Manoso. "I finally came face to face with what I should have been, not what I became."

"What are you talking about?" Helen asked, truly confused.

"Helen Plum, I've let you run the house and raise our daughters, thinking you knew best. I was wrong. Yes, you keep a clean house and have the meal done on time, but they are the same fucking things day after day," he roared as his hands swept towards the pots on the stove. "They are not healthy. The doctor constantly tells me to start eating healthy or die young. Is that what you are trying to do, Helen, kill me so you can become a martyred Burg widow?"

"I'm cooking the meals you like, like a proper wife."

"Meals I liked forty years ago! We are not teenagers or twenty-year-olds. Your meals are health hazards loaded down with fats, salt, and sugars. Where are the vegetables? Where are the salads? Chopped vegetables swimming in lemon gelatin does not constitute a salad, even if you bury it under mayonnaise. Do you know what I have for lunch? A leafy green salad, no dressing, whole grains, and fresh fruit. Otherwise, my bowels would never move due to your non-fibrous dinners. Is it any wonder your mother spends a fortune on Metamucil every month?"

"You never said anything," Helen fought back.

"I have, often, but you ignore me. You pride yourself on being a good cook, but your menus are out-of-date. Your child raising attitudes are out-of-date as well. You raised a brain-dead Burg zombie in Valerie who though educated at the local community college, refuses to use her skills to help her family's finances because her mother told her a wife's place is to stay at home. Albert can't support himself, let alone a wife and four children. For our other daughter, you have shown no respect or love. You pushed the womanizing Dickie Orr on Stephanie to improve your Burg standing. Then when she caught him screwing another woman, you told her it was her fault. How was adultery her fault? Why did you bother to teach the girls moral behavior when you immediately dismissed that jackass' immortality?"

Helen fought back, "A wife's job is to please her husband in all things. If he has needs she doesn't fulfill, of course, the man will look elsewhere. It is her fault."

Frank stared at his wife. "What did you say?"

"I'm saying if she had obeyed her husband and submitted to his needs, she would still be married, just like the Bible says."

Frank raised his voice even louder, "What?! Obey is not in the Ephesians chapters and submit is only in later written Protestant King James version, not the earlier Catholic Bible. The Protestants changed, 'we must all respect one another and serve the Lord' to obey the Lord. There's a big difference."

"Since when did you become such a Bible scholar, Frank? You never attend church."

"Helen, I read and study the Bible, plus I think about what I've read. I don't rely on television or new age evangelists interpreting the Bible to their monetary profit. As for not going to church, you are wrong. Where is Fr. John every Monday night?"

"How would I know?"

"He's at the lodge with a group of men conducting Bible study. One does not need to proselytize from a church pulpit; sometimes, a poker table is more meaningful to the common folk. As for going to church, I attend morning mass every Tuesday and Thursday across town where wagging Burg tongues don't see me. I skip Sunday service here because seeing all those Burg gossipers brings evil into my heart. Plus, I enjoy my time at home alone."

Helen was dumbfounded. Who was this man? She stood in the kitchen, speechless.

"Back to our discussion about our daughter, that bastard Morelli molested Stephanie as a 6-year-old child and raped her as a teenager. You - never - told - me!" he roared. "Why did you not call the police the first time or take her to the doctor the second? Instead, you blamed her! Is it your intention to destroy my daughter to garner more Burg sympathy?"

"No, I'm trying to save her. I told her to stay away from the Morelli boys, but she didn't listen."

"She was six years old! She was still a baby," Frank roared. Joe was older..

"As for what happened at Tasty Pastry, she probably sashayed around him, flirting. She was asking for it," Helen said as she gulped more ice tea.

"No woman asks to be raped! What would have happened if she ended up pregnant?"

"She would have had to marry Joseph and drop out of school. It is the Burg way. I will not have a ..."

"Choose your next words carefully, Helen Plum. Your marriage depends on it," Frank warned with a low, menacing voice.

Helen wisely didn't finish her sentence. She turned around and went to the cabinet, where she kept her favorite bottle.

Frank walked out of the kitchen and out the front door for the serenity of his lodge or a long talk with Father John Campanella. "Frank, you have a lot of catching up to do," he muttered to himself.

-0-

By mid-November, feathers were partially smoothed in the Plum household. Stephanie skipped mandatory Friday night dinners without retribution as long as she called her mother once a week to report. Stephanie expected her mother to answer the phone, "Report," mimicking Ranger's command. The calls were brief, allowing Helen limited questions. "Where are you working?" Helen asked.

"I'm in an office downtown, Mom. I work on a computer most of the day. I'm eating healthy and even exercising." She didn't say she was also learning about weapons and rolling around the gym floor, learning self-defense moves with big muscular men.

That explanation worked for a while until the day Helen asked the name of the business. Joe Morelli was suspicious and questioned Helen more closely at Giovichinni's market. When Helen asked what office she was working, Stephanie replied, "I am putting my business degree to good use in the business department at Rangeman." OK, she worked a few hours a week in the business department, the rest of the time was in operations on the fifth floor.

"You are working with those thugs?" Helen screamed.

"The business section has employees with more degrees than I. They are not thugs."

"Are you living with them?"

Wow, a sudden interest in her job jumped to her living arrangements. "I don't live where I work. I'm still in my apartment, and if you continue to call the professionals I work with thugs, I won't be calling you again."

"You don't talk to your mother that way, young lady."

"You were the one who raised her voice, Mom."

"Why work for them? There are other more honorable companies than those thugs..."

"Goodbye, Mom." Stephanie disconnected. The phone immediately rang and noting the return number, she let it go to voice mail for later deletion.

While Stephanie tried to skip Thanksgiving dinner the following week, her father asked her to come. The day was stressful, but the Kloughns provided enough distraction. Helen kept her barbs in until just before dessert. "I saw Joseph at the store the other day. He said hello."

"Yes, Mom, he knows how to speak," Stephanie smiled sweetly. Her father stopped eating and was listening.

"He's such a nice young man, Stephanie."

Frank grumbled, "Helen..."

Helen's face shot up, "What?"

Stephanie put a stop to her mother's actions. "You will not select my husband again. I'm not sure I'll ever remarry after Dickie. It wasn't for me. Drop it!"

"Young lady, your biological clock is ticking. You don't want to be too old to..."

"Helen, sweet Mother Mary and Joseph, shut the fuck up," Frank scolded.

The table was dead silent. Did Frank just swear? Helen shot eye daggers at Stephanie, Frank's eyes were boring into Helen. The Kloughns kept their eyes cast to the table. Edna's eyes were dancing around the table, enjoying the show. "Perhaps I'll leave now, Stephanie said. "It was nice seeing you all again, goodnight."

Stephanie realized she had walked out before dessert and worse yet; her mother would not pack a to-go package for her to eat in the coming days. Fortunately, she wasn't starving, eating lunch at Rangeman kept her full. Once a week, Rangeman employees went to Shorty's. Stephanie went though more often than not, she pulled a Ranger, ordering chicken salad, not pizza.

Dreading Christmas, Stephanie told Tank, "I'll gladly work monitors Christmas Day, so someone else can have time off." No way she wanted to spend the day with her mother.

"You need to spend a few hours with your family; otherwise, I'll be scalded by Helen Plum spew. I'll let you work monitors for a while, but you still need to take four hours off and go to your parent's home, please."

Helen was not happy; her daughter would not be there all day, but in reality, four hours was just a few less than she usually spent with the family at Christmas. At her father's suggestion, she brought a big leafy salad to add to the Christmas dinner. She and her father were trying to eat healthier in their meals together. When Helen refused to serve the salad saying there was no room on the table, Frank took his plate, his granddaughters' plates, and Stephanie's to the kitchen. After filling them with salad, he returned and turned to Albert and Valerie. "You two should also be eating healthier." Both gaped at him. Frank and Stephanie refused dessert. Only Stephanie noticed her father was slimming down and regaining muscle mass.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 **

Albany in January is often cold and dark. Not prime weather for a wedding unless you are a polar bear. Celeste Plum, a niece to Frank Plum, was marrying a few months earlier than initially planned. Pregnancies often accelerate wedding dates. The entire Frank Plum clan from Trenton would be attending the event.

Stephanie had passed the Rangeman physical fitness test and tested above average with weapons. As a reward, Tank gave her a few extra days off to join her family in Albany. She traveled with her parents and Edna. Riding with Valerie, Albert, and their daughters, would have been too crowded.

Tank wanted to send an escort with her. While she hadn't been working FTAs in several months, he wasn't convinced she was over attracting calamities. "Steph," he began. The nickname Little Girl hardly applied to the new developing woman. "If for nothing else, you can use one of the men as a shield against your mother."

Steph smiled, "But what about my grandmother? Any man you send would be on injured reserves. Tank, nobody knows me there except for a few family members. I will be with my family the whole time, and I'm sure my father can hold off my mother, if necessary. If I could get out of the trip, I would, but my father has asked me to attend. It will be a quick trip."

Tank relented. He knew anyone assigned to accompany Stephanie, her family, including Edna, would require battlefield pay and probably psychological counseling. "I could send Hector," he smiled. "I'm sure it would liven up the event." They both laughed.

Helen worked for two weeks ironing clothes, making sure everyone was packed correctly for the three-day excursion. Frequently she inquired if her younger daughter needed help with her wardrobe selections. Stephanie deflected the calls saying she was busy with work and had no time to chat. On travel day, Stephanie got into the back seat with her grandmother, Helen began, "I assume you selected something appropriate and won't be embarrassing us with your dress."

Before Stephanie could think up a snappy reply, Frank scolded, "Put a sock in it, Helen." Stephanie thought back to several distractions dresses she had worn and the response they elicited with her Merry Men. The dresses sexiness would shock her mother.

Helen was quiet for the first few hours, but her tongue loosened the further away from Trenton they traveled. Frank, Edna, and Stephanie tried to shut down each barb. Not until Frank pulled along the side of the road and told Helen to shut up or get out, did Helen close her mouth. The snowbanks along the roadway were several feet high, indicating winter's severity. Wisely Helen did not reply, "Well, I never..."

A brief stop for gasoline and restroom break allowed Helen to disappear for a few minutes. She returned more mellow and smelling of fresh whiskey. "Jesus, Helen," Frank fumed.

"What?" Helen shot back.

"You smell like a distillery," he answered as he lowered the window a bit to air out the car. "Did your hip flask leak?"

"I only tipple now and then. I need something to calm my nerves," Helen replied. For the rest of the trip, she sulked, not speaking a word. Frank and his daughter were satisfied. Edna smiled.

As they pulled into the motel parking lot, Helen felt safe to speak. "I'm sure you'll find a nice man up here."

In an attempt to sidetrack the discussion, Edna cut in, "Oh, yes? Are there plenty of cuties here? I could use a new boyfriend."

"Mother, I was talking to Stephanie."

Stephanie was feeling snarky, "Why is there something wrong with the women?"

Frank broke a small smile. His daughter was fighting back.

"Perhaps you can find someone special for your life," Helen said hopefully.

Stephanie's eye brightened, "You want me to marry a cousin? Our children would end up playing the banjo." It was a reference to the movie "Deliverance."

Edna smiled broadly. Frank snorted. Finally, his daughter was growing cojones. She was learning not to let her mother browbeat her.

Helen was confused, "I'm not sure they'd be musically talented since you refused to take violin lessons. The closest you got was baton twirling with the band."

"But I had a thing for tubas, didn't I?" Stephanie was enjoying goring her mother. As a baton twirler, Stephanie misthrew her baton into the air, landing in a tuba's bell.

"I was so embarrassed," Helen moaned.

"Why, Mother, why were you embarrassed? I lost the baton, not you. People laughed at me, not you. If you had laughed along with everyone else, they would have forgotten about it. When they saw how it affected you, they continued to talk to rile you. Half the Burg gossip you bring on yourself by your reactions, 'Poor me, I have Stephanie as a daughter.' If you didn't play into their hands, they'd not gossip about us."

Helen stared at her daughter, not knowing how to respond. She was not the daughter she knew. What was happening? Once again, Helen Plum was a loss to understand her younger daughter. Reaching into her purse, she started to pull out the silver flask.

"Stow it, Helen, until we get to the room. You might pass out in the lobby," Frank snarled.

Helen's head snapped around. Frank had never talked to her this way before.

-0-

The benefit of being 30+ years old and a cousin, Stephanie, could decline the bridesmaid honor. She barely knew Celeste having last seen her at her wedding to Dicky Orr. As an observer, not one of the eight in the bridal party, avoiding the hideous dresses, and not catering to the crazed and hormonally crazed Bridezilla was a blessing.

"I don't know why you refused to be a bridesmaid," Helen whispered at the beginning of the wedding ceremony.

"I don't know anybody up there, including the bride. Plus, I live eight hours away. She already has twelve attendants between the bridesmaids, flower girls, and ring bearers. She only asked me out of family courtesy.

The wedding was a large Italian affair with the reception in the full-size ballroom, sit down full course dinner and dancing to an overly loud band. As Stephanie became acquainted with her father's family and meeting the groom's family, she was grateful her grandfather settled in New Jersey, not in upper New York. Families could be smothering.

"You aren't married?" An aunt with a forgotten name asked with great interest as if she found a mate for Stephanie. Helen was listening.

Stephanie held up one hand in stop motion, "I am divorced and still emotionally cautious."

"Do you have a boyfriend?" The aunt was already looking around the reception hall for a suitable bachelor if Stephanie said no.

Helen jumped in, "Yes, a nice Italian man. He's got a good respectable job as a police detective."

Stephanie swung around and warned, "Mother, butt out."

Helen bristled, "Mind your tongue, young lady."

Frank murmured a simple, "Helen."

"When are you going to marry him and bring more Plum bambinos into the family?" the aunt asked.

"My mother has forgotten the not so nice Italian police detective hasn't been around in 3½ months. He was not into monogamous relationships, often dating many other women, sometimes by the hour."

Frank smiled into his sparkling cider. He was avoiding alcohol as the designated driver.

"Stephanie Plum," Helen hissed. "How dare you say such things about Joseph?"

"You are right, mother. Sometimes Joseph dated several together all night in a sleazy hotel."

Frank was enjoying this.

The aunt was a bit flustered, but continued, "If you are not seeing someone, there are several nice men here tonight."

Crap! That is what it all about, marriage and children. What happened to careers other than diapers and pot roasts, soccer games, and gossip with the women at the market? "I have a job I like," Stephanie responded neutrally. This aunt was uncomfortable like her mother.

"I'm sure it isn't as important as a family, dear," cooed the aunt.

"I believe it is. I work for a security company handling their worldwide information network." Stephanie's answer was better than saying she was researching criminals around the world.

Helen cut in. "That's a lie. You work for a bunch of thugs."

"Mother, that is enough! The womanizing police detective you are so enamored with has filled your head with lies, which you spread around the Burg like manure. Ranger has been to the house for dinner."

"He wore a gun," Helen countered as she raised her whiskey glass to her mouth.

"So did Joe and I. The only difference is Ranger's was visible, Joe's and mine were not. Plus, Grandma Mazur carries a gun in her purse." Edna nodded and smiled. "Who do you think is better trained to know how and when to use a weapon? Ranger or Grandma? Ranger and many of those "thugs" as you call them are decorated military men just like Daddy. They hold some of the highest honors awarded for service to our country. They are more honorable than all, including you, who gather at Giovinchinni's market to gossip and spread lies. Your so-called honorable police detective left the Navy due to disciplinary actions." Stephanie was pissed and marched off before her mother could say more. Now her family in Albany would brand her a disrespectful daughter. Stephanie knew her mother would try to banish her from the car for the trip home. At the moment, riding back on a bus sounded like a great idea.

Once at the bar, she ordered a Bellini containing wine, fruit, and spritz. None fit her mood right now. What she needed was a tequila shot, but it was not a proper wedding drink. She downed her first drink quickly while watching the action on the dance floor. Why are bridesmaids' dresses so hideous? Were they purposely flagrant to pull attention away from the bride's noticeable baby bump? The pink color better-suited flamingos or Valentine's Day than the middle of January. She snorted into her second drink, chuckling.

"What's so funny?" A good-looking man asked. Unlike most Plums, he did not have dark hair, but rather natural blond with hazel eyes. He was about her height in her heels, which made him less than six feet. He was trim, beautiful teeth, and a wedding ring! "I thought the flamingos escaped from the zoo," she quietly said as she pushed her chin towards the dance floor.

He glanced around and smiled, "Exactly what Angela said."

"Your wife?"

"You must meet her since you share the same humor. My name is Angelo. Do not say it, Angela and Angelo. We hear it all the time." He grabbed two champagne flutes and led Stephanie back to a table where a pregnant woman with long dark wavy hair smiled at her husband as he handed her the goblet. Stephanie looked at the champagne and the wife.

Catching Stephanie's concerning look, the woman smiled, "It is sparkling cider. About half the women under 45 here are pregnant or nursing. Winters are cold up here." Stephanie visually relaxed. Continuing, the woman said, "I'm Angela Amici, and you've met the other angel. We are from the groom's side."

Stephanie smiled, "Stephanie Plum, Trenton, bride's side, unmarried, and not pregnant," as she salutarily raised her champagne flute.

Both Amici's chuckled. "So are the old ladies here trying to hook you up with someone?" Angela asked.

Stephanie looked exasperated, "My mother and an aunt I've never met are plotting my downfall. I am divorced, lack domestic skills, and maternal interests."

"You must have a career you like," Angela asked.

Stephanie smiled, "I do. I was a bounty hunter but got tired of people trying to kill me. Now I work for a large security company. I let the former military employees deal with the miscreants."

"Trenton and a security company could only mean Rangeman," Angelo said.

Stephane was surprised to hear Rangeman was known here in northern New York. "How did you know? I'm not wearing black."

Angelo Amici laughed aloud. "I'm a cop and have worked with Ranger Manoso in the past. He is a consummate professional but a bit intense. It's like he's still in the Army."

"Old habits die hard." No way could she tell Angelo he is working as a mercenary.

The two angels and Steph talked for a while when a younger version of Angelo came to the table. "Hey bro, want to introduce me?"

"This is Stephanie Plum, my brother Silvio."

"Ah, from the bride's family. Since I haven't met such a lovely lady in Albany, you are probably from out of town."

"Trenton. My whole family is here. I would introduce you right now, but they are in a feeding frenzy looking for a husband for me."

"Yipes! In that case, would you join me on the dance floor? My uncles are razing me about not being married."

Angelo chuckled, "You two together should start some tongues wagging."

Holding up her hand, Stephanie said, "I'm not looking for a husband, Silvio."

He smiled, "Either am I, at least with a woman."

Stephanie was immediately at ease with Silvio's honesty at being gay. The two moved onto the dance floor, and Silvio loosely took her into his arms. As they danced through the crowd, the bridesmaids were also on the dance floor. "I feel like I'm amid a flock of flamingos," Silvio muttered.

Stephanie snorted. "This reminds me of Florida."

"Wait until you go back outside. Albany in January bears no resemblance to Florida, especially this year."

"What do you do, Silvio?"

"I am an attorney."

"Uh Oh, my first husband was an attorney. I'm a bit shy about guys at the bar."

Silvio laughed, "Ms. Stephanie, you should be wary around us. We are all shysters," he winked.

"Dickie sure was," she mumbled.

"Dickie? Seriously that was his name? Who calls himself Dickie?"

"Dickhead would not have benefited his political ambitions. Our divorce ended with a bang. Well, the divorce started with him banging someone else."

"How long were you married?"

"I walked in on the show three months after our nuptials. The divorce papers were signed three months later."

"That's a pretty fast divorce. No wonder you are cautious. Hopefully, a beautiful woman like you is still looking."

"There were two nibbles, one had a roaming dick, and the other is too wrapped up in his work for a committed relationship. So I've stepped off the dance floor much to my mother's scorn."

"Don't lock up your heart, Stephanie Plum from Trenton."

"What about you, Silvio?"

"I have family problems too. Italian men are supposed to marry women and produce children."

"I hope you find your somebody, Silvio."

"Oh, I already have Sweet Thing. He's bartending tonight, right over there."

Stephanie looked at the tall man behind the counter. In some ways, he reminded her of Ranger with his long straight hair pulled back, muscular shoulders and flat abs. "He is the second nicest looking man here today, Silvio, after you and maybe your brother."

Silvio kissed her on the cheek, "Thank you, Stephanie Plum from Trenton."

Stephanie was at ease for the first time since leaving Trenton. This trip wasn't a total disaster since she met the three Amicis. The two "angels" were welcoming and humorous, different from those at the dourly Plum table. Silvio was a great dancer and not interested in her sexually. She liked his humor, reminding her of Lester without the sexual innuendos.

As she and Silvio continued to dance, she casually looked around. One bridesmaid was dancing with someone familiar. So as not to be caught staring, Stephanie turned away and thought. The name would come in time. As the song ended, the man's name came crashing down on her, Billy Montell. He was a high bond FTA for Rangeman. For the last two weeks, she searched for him, but the trail went cold. She needed to contact Trenton. Excusing herself with, "Nature call. I will be right back." Taking her purse, she went towards the lady's room but went outside into the cold to make the call.

Tank's voice boomed through the phone filled with concern and surprise, "Bomber?"

"Tank, Billy Montell is here at the wedding reception. I don't remember anything about him being from Albany."

"I'll look into it. In the meantime, do nothing. Do not tip Montell off. You are not authorized to work in New York. I am sending a team now. Are you coming home tomorrow?"

"Good question. I may be taking the bus. I pissed off my mother."

"If banned from the family car, I'll fly you home."

"Let's hope it won't be necessary," she responded and then disconnected. Chastising herself for her lack of telephone skills, the longer she worked for Rangeman, the more bad habits she acquired. As she put her phone into her dress' hidden pocket, she felt the long-forgotten sizzle on her neck. Her world went dark.

-0-

It did not take Silvio Amici long to notice Stephanie was missing. He went to his brother, "Stephanie hasn't returned from the restroom. Maybe she is ill."

"I'll go check," Angela offered. "I have to use the facilities anyway." Angelo and Silvio went with her to the door. When she emerged, she was shaking her head, "She's not in the restroom."

"Who did she come with?" Silvio asked.

"I don't know. I'll ask around," Angelo mumbled. His police 6th sense was vibrating. Something was wrong.

Helen Plum was holding court at the table, ranting about her daughter for her comments about the Burg gossipers. After taking another large gulp of her whiskey and water, she huffed, "She can find her way home. Never have I been so embarrassed. She is no daughter of mine."

Frank shook his head. "Helen, we most certainly will NOT leave her here." He considered putting Helen with the Kloughns for the return trip and taking Angie and Mary Alice instead. Better yet, maybe he would let her take a bus home.

"Frank, she was disrespectful to me in front of your sister-in-law. What will your family think? Why doesn't she marry Joe and settle down?"

Frank growled, "Helen, she and Joe ended their relationship nearly four months ago with my encouragement and blessing. They were not a good match. He was worse than Dickie Orr. She's much happier if you haven't noticed."

Helen's eyes opened wide. "You encouraged her to leave Joe? How dare you go against my wishes! That is not your responsibility. Now, who will want her? There are few unmarried Burg men her age. She isn't a proper lady. I don't know what I've done wrong?"

Frank shook his head at his wife's rambling, "I am very grateful she is far BETTER than a Burg woman. She is finally trying to lead her own life, not one dictated by you. Joesph Morelli is ..." Frank looked at his granddaughters and chose different words. "Joseph is not an honorable man. Just because he has an inherited home and civil service job, does not make him worthy of my daughter. You pushed Richard Orr on her even though I warned you about him. Joseph has the same problem."

Helen huffed and downed the remaining highball. "At least Dickie or Joe would have been good providers."

Probably provide an STD, Frank thought. "I seriously doubt that," Frank huffed without looking across the table at Albert Kloughn, who was the most incompetent attorney in Trenton. He was a terrible provider but loved Valerie and would remain faithful. Frank knew about Dickie Orr's gambling problem, and money owed the loan sharks before his daughter married him. His recent investigation found Joe Morelli spent his earnings on frequent vacations to single's retreats, referring to them as "Undercover Operations."

Valerie listened to the interaction between her parents. What has happened to her parents? Her mother has not stopped drinking since she sat down at the table, and her father is not the same quiet man she has known all her life. Valerie could not remember ever hearing her father argue with her mother. What has Stephanie done to cause them to change?

Angelo Amici walked up, "Are you Frank Plum from Trenton?"

Frank stood, "Yes, sir, this is my wife Helen, daughter Valerie, husband Albert Kloughn, and their children Angie, Mary Alice, and Lisa. This is Edith Mazur, my mother in law."

"Sir, I'm Angelo Amici. My wife, brother, and I had the pleasure of meeting your daughter Stephanie here, but now we cannot find her. Do you know where she is?"

Helen, now well lubricated, slurred, "No doubt she's shacked up with some thug."

"Enough, Helen!" Frank nearly shouted. He then moved away from the table. Silvio Amici joined them. "Sir, I'm Silvio, Angelo's brother. Stephanie and I were dancing when she suddenly became excited and excused herself for a nature call. She has not returned."

Angelo took over, "She mentioned she worked as a bond apprehension agent and now works for Rangeman. Mr. Plum, I am a police officer. Silvio is a prosecuting attorney. We are more in tune with unusual events than most people. I am wondering if she saw a fugitive."

Frank groaned. It had been months since trouble found his daughter. "I thought we were past this."

As Frank, Angelo, and Silvio made the rounds through the reception. A bridesmaid reported her date, Billy Montell, was also missing. Helen immediately assumed her daughter and Billy were entertaining each other in a janitor's closet nearby. "It would be just like her," Helen slurred.

Frank held his temper but looked to Albert, "Take Helen back to the hotel. She is drunk."

Detective Angelo Amici found Helen Plum's rant unlikely and called police headquarters determining if Billy Montell was in their system. The Trenton FTA, failure to appear, showed up immediately. The headquarters policeman running the check responded, "Yes sir, Billy Montell is a high bond fugitive from Trenton Police. The bonding agent is Rangeman Security in Trenton."

When Angelo told Frank about the bond skip, Frank didn't hesitate, "Contact Rangeman, Trenton. Ask for Tank." Frank and Detective Amici did not realize Tank had already ordered a flight for several Rangemen to Albany to gather Billy Montell.

The call came to Rangeman main telephone line. Manny was on duty, "Tank, call from Albany PD, Detective Amici."

Tank muttered to himself, "Please let it be good news."

It wasn't. After listening to the Albany detective, Tank responded, "Detective Amici, we have an apprehension team in the air heading for Albany now. We've been looking for Montell but did not find an Albany connection. We can give you more background."

"Sir, I'm not too proud to say I'd appreciate Rangeman's help."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 **

Hallucinations

LeRoy Black was not going to show; it was nearly sunrise. Rats have scurried back to their holes by daybreak. Stephanie was tired of sitting shivering in the dark. Operating the car's heater during surveillance would indicate someone was inside the vehicle. She had been in the car for four hours, with the window slightly open to dispel moisture to prevent the window from fogging. Frozen ears, a numb butt, and feet were the least of her problems. To keep her hands warm, she had them tucked under her arms, but now her nose dripped. Soon she would have to release her hands to wipe her nose.

Attempting to continue some facade of dignity, she released her hands, raised them to her mouth, and blew warm air onto them at the same time discretely wiping her nose.

"If you are too cold, Babe, we can call this off," Ranger said, apparently immune to the cold.

"You don't have a hat or gloves. How do you stay warm?"

"I maximize blood flow through exercise and proper breathing," Ranger replied quietly.

"Huh? You aren't exercising right now."

"I'm tensing my muscles in my feet, legs, arms, and hands, then letting the relax all the while slowly breathing. The oxygen spreads through my body. I exhale slowly, so it doesn't fog up the windows."

Resisting rolling her eyes, Stephanie growled, "I can trust you to get exercise into our conversation."

"The better fit you are, your heartbeat and respiration are slower."

Huffing a bit, she responded, "It's pretty hard keeping my heartbeat and breathing under control sitting next to you in the Turbo hour after hour."

He turned with a tiny Ranger smile, "I can show you how to get warm in the car without turning on the heater, but it might fog up the windows." His hand reached over to drew circles on her thigh.

"This car is constantly monitored. Control figured out our last rendezvous in the alley. Plus, I don't think Stark Street is a safe place for car sex."

Ranger reached forward and hit the starter button, "Trust me?"

Stephanie trusted Ranger with her life. She squinted to indicate curiosity.

The German sports car purred to life, and they left Stark Street quietly. The truck stop off I-295 had a quiet corner away from the big rigs. The black Porsche was nearly invisible. Without a word, Ranger got out, walked to the passenger side, and pulled Stephanie out. Immediately he sat in the passenger seat. "Sit on my lap facing the front."

"Ranger?"

"I'm going to show you how to get warm, Babe."

Stephanie angled back in and onto his lap while he reclined the seat, allowing her to fall against his chest. She had no time to think about her position when his left hand began stroking her stomach and breasts under her jacket and sweater. His right hand skillfully undid her jeans. Magic fingers knew the correct pressure and tempo to get her excited while he kissed her neck and bit her earlobes. Usually, a slow lover, this time, Ranger was fast and skilled. Stephanie found herself gasping how fast her orgasm was coming.

"Ranger..."

"Let it go, Babe, fly high."

And she did. She let go, propelled by her spasms, she shot to the stars.

"That's my girl," he whispered.

While her breathing evening out, he pulled her sweater and jacket down, "Are you a little warmer?"

She nodded as words would not yet come. Mentally she realized how quickly she had reached an orgasm. Did she feel violated, wanton, or was she disappointed not to have had time to enjoy the journey?

Increased blood and oxygen flow work every time," he said with a kiss.

If he hadn't kissed her, she would feel violated, but allowed herself to enjoy the, hopefully, unique experience and hoped she wouldn't need to experience it again. Carefully she zipped her pants up as Ranger opened the car door. Trying not to wiggle too much atop Ranger's swollen male appendage, Steph stepped out onto the paved lot. He followed, but the bulge in his cargo pants indicated his own needs remained unsated. "Now, lets to have breakfast." As he neared the car's rear bumper, he said, "I'm never getting rid of this car."

"Not if I drive it," she laughed.

"Then I'll have to get you one of your own."

She smiled. Her daydreams had taken her through the Porsche website. "Maybe dark blue. Turquoise would stand out too much, and the orange or yellow would invite crazies."

Ranger raised the single eyebrow but said nothing.

"I've been through the website. I've imagined expanding your fleet's color palette."

Ranger smiled and took her hand as they walked to the diner. The server was quick with menus, two coffee mugs, and a filled coffee pot. Ranger never sat down. "I'll give you a chance to look over the menu while I go wash up," he said as he licked his fingers.

Stephanie shivered in excitement, remembering where those fingers had recently been. "I assume you want pie for breakfast," she smirked.

"Plum pie to go," he responded with a smile. His warm sweet smile slowly dissolved into cold darkness. Stephanie woke from her dream with a jolt to find her hands and feet bound behind her. She couldn't move, but her body was rolling across a cold metal surface.

Oncoming headlights showed she was in a pickup with a camper shell over the bed. Her memory was still fuzzy. Where had she been? Trenton going after a skip? No, she was in Albany with her family at a family wedding. As her mind cleared, she remembered dancing with Silvio, Billy Montell, the telephone call to Tank, and then the all too familiar sizzle followed by darkness. Nausea was a growing problem. Unsure if the cause was the truck's motion or was she drugged. How long had she been unconscious?

The number of oncoming headlights diminished, ending entirely as the truck left the smooth road for something bumpier. Mud or snow was hitting the underside of the vehicle. Were they heading to a cabin? The vision of DeChooch filled her head. She remembered Valerie and her kidnapping, Valerie being thrown from the van, the small and pain from the torturers hot poked, Valerie's rescue, and the terrifying ride back to Trenton.

Her only hope was Tank knew she was in Albany. Rangeman could pick up her trail. She no longer had a purse filled with trackers, but she had her phone. Tank insisted she kept a phone on her all times, not in an easily stolen or lost bag. To accommodate a fancy dress, Ella modified her dresses to include a long, thin pocket for her phone that wouldn't disturb the dress line. Did she turn off the phone when she finished talking with Tank, or did she put it in her pocket? With her hands secured behind her, she could not reach the pocket to learn if the phone was still active, and Hector could track her.

Suddenly the truck's tires lost traction, and the vehicle began sliding sideways. The driver compensated. The next time the sliding lasted longer. The sounds changed as the truck slowly began to tip to the right, pause, and then start tumbling. Unsecured, Stephanie was tossed violently around like concrete inside a mixer. The tumbling stopped suddenly, and she crashed into the truck bed, knocked unconscious.

-0-

The deep snow almost completely muffled the pre-dawn engine sound, but Malika's hearing was sharp after weeks in isolation. The only road in the area lay buried. Unless the vehicle was a Sno-Cat with high clearance, with tracks instead of tires, and high-intensity illumination lamps, there was no way it could proceed up the road.

Malika began filling her backpack. Her food ration was a mix of dry oatmeal pounded into power with dry fruit, mashed.

Water would make a slurry. Her pack also included dry clothing, a medical bag containing her diminished supplies, a hunting knife, a multi-tool device, and rope. The rope had already proven it's worth helping her haul firewood back to hut.

Stepping outside, she tied on her homemade snowshoes, took the wood poles cut from nearby trees, and set off towards the road. In her prime and with quality snowshoes, the trip would be less than 30 minutes, but with the awkward equipment and her lown weakening condition, the trip would take longer.

The fresh impressions in the snow were tires, not tracks. Malika followed the impressions up the road. What fool had come this far with only tires? She had weeks ago, but she was out of her mind at the time. Had the Russians found her? Maybe these were city folk with a malfunctioning GPS seeking a short cut through the mountains. Or maybe there was a cabin she had not yet discovered.

Malika stayed within the parallel tire tracks as the road edge was indiscernible. She feared the driver has slipped off the road edge, as she had done. Her fears were confirmed when the tracks disappeared. Realizing she was probably close to the road edge, she began using her poles to feel for the border. Once established, she inched to the side and looked. In the dawn's light, she saw a pickup truck smashed against several trees. Looping the rope around a tree beside the road and her body, she lowered herself down the slope as she had done numerous times during field training and recreational mountain climbing.

The vehicle had rolled over multiple times, casting debris aside with each roll. The front cab was crushed, pinning the driver behind the steering wheel and front dash. Malika reached in and felt for a pulse, knowing there wouldn't be one due to his grey color. Running her hand down the neck, she felt the displacement, broken neck to add to the crushed thorax. There was no way she could get the deceased out without hydraulic tools. Leaving the corpse, she set about checking the rest of the vehicle. Perhaps there were supplies she could use. Looking through an opening created by the broken camper shell, she saw two feet inside the truck's bed. There was someone in there!

The person inside was bound. Malika's knife made quick work of the cable ties, but the unconscious woman was dressed in party attire, not survival clothing. Doing a quick evaluation, she found head contusions, upper arm dislocation nd fracture, and what she feared were back and pelvic fractures. Her leg was probably fractured, as well. There was something in her dress. A cell phone? Malika automatically turned it on and found it still had power, but like her own, no reception.

Malika searched the truck's debris for a large, relatively flat metal piece to create a sled. The immediate concern was exposure. Finding a sleeping bag in the back with the woman, Malika carefully secured the woman in the sleeping bag, adding clothing from her pack. She then wrapped everything thing in the emergency blanket and carefully maneuvered the patient to the sled. Pulling the led back to the road was almost beyond Malika's strength. The injured woman needed immediate medical evacuation, but that wasn't going to happen. All Malika could provide was a semi-warm hovel. Fortunately, the truck had gone over the road higher than the cabin, so the effort to get back to the cabin was downhill.

Through the rest of the day and night, aided only by a flashlight and her hands, she could feel the fractures and rigged splits with twigs and branches cut from the nearby trees. In addition to the dislocated left shoulder, the clavicle and humerus were fractured, the ribs hopefully just bruised. The worst injuries were to her pelvis and right tibia. This woman was critical, but the only things Malika could do was align, splint, hydrate, and pray.

Before the sun rose, Malika removed her wool cap and wrapped her head and face with a smaug or keffiyeh, the scarf used throughout the Middle East to protect the face, hair, and head from the heat, sand, or as a disguise. She feared her disfigured face would further upset the woman if and when she regained consciousness.

For added warmth, Malika wrapped the patient in two sleeping bags, her own and the one from the truck, carpeting, and foam tore from the vehicles to stabilize the woman and keep her warm. For days the woman moaned and cried, but Malika could do little but encourage her to drink warmed water supplemented with a bit of sugar, salt, and flour or oatmeal. There was no other way to hydrate her. Finally, the woman began to come around. Knowing she could not speak, the medic collected paper and pen to answer the woman's questions.

Gradually the curly-haired woman was becoming more aware and looked at Malkia in her keffiyeh. "You aren't Montell," she whispered.

Malika shook her head no.

Stephanie, "I don't understand."

"I'm mute," she wrote and signaled with her hands. "UR name?" She wrote on the paper.

The lady was still groggy, "I'm Stephanie Plum from Trenton. Who are you?"

Malika had a problem. The kidnappers spoke Russian. Did Babaev send this woman? Stephanie was a Russian name. Was Plum an anglicized Plemyannikov? No, Stephanie was a victim. Still, Malika did not dare tell this woman her name. She wrote, "Angel."

"Not another angel," the injured woman mumbled. "Are you a doctor or a nurse?"

Once again, Malika was conflicted. "Military doctor."

"Whose?" Stephanie asked, looking at the scarf wrapped around Malika's head.

"USA."

"Where are we?"

Malika shrugged.

"You don't know?" Stephanie squeaked. Was she stranded in the middle of nowhere? Would rescuers arrive soon?

Malika nodded, no.

"Why are you here?" Stephanie asked, tiring quickly.

Carefully Malika wrote, "People trying to kill me."

"Who?"

Malika shrugged again. Maybe later, she would try to explain and, in turn, find out why Stephanie Plum was in the back of a pickup truck in the middle of a wilderness. She again indicated Stephanie needed to drink water. Without IV's, Malika would have to keep Stephanie hydrated and fed orally as well as take care of her sanitation. After several days Malika relaxed. Stephanie was not getting worse; in fact, she was slightly better and eating gruel.

"It's awful," the patient complained.

Malika shook her head in agreement only because she could not argue. The oatmeal and dried fruits were a staple in Malika's breakfast regime before being stranded.

"Aren't you eating?"

Using hand signals, Malika conveyed her mouth didn't open, and at best, she could slowly suck liquid through her teeth.

Stephanie had the only "bed," the foam from Malika's vehicle. It wasn't comfortable, but kept the cold away, mostly. Malika was busy keeping the iron box stove near the bed fed through the night and slept curled nearby. Her sleep was minutes, not hours.

When Malika was sure Stephanie was mostly stable, she wrote a brief note: Go UR truck 4 supplies.

Stephanie began to tear up out of fear. "Is Billy Montell out there?"

Malika nodded no and mimicked a broken neck.

"Did you do that?" Stephanie asked with fear and perhaps awe.

Malika nodded, no.

Malika could only place her hand softly in assurance and then showed her the water and "food."

Stephanie wrinkled her nose in disgust, "Could you bring back pizza?"

Malika smiled behind her scarf. The patient's humor was returning.

The path to the truck was faster this time. No new snow had fallen in a couple of days. The route back was still visible. The cold weather had frozen the corpse, but not before small predators had begun scavaging. She considered using portions of the carcass to attract the scavengers in hopes of trapping them for food. Larger predators would soon move in as the windshield, and one door was missing. Checking the corpse, she found a cell phone, but like hers and Stephanie's, there was no reception. Also on the body was a hunting knife, a seven-shot handgun, and a stun gun. The wallet held nothing that would help their survival. The name on the license was William Monte. She considered stripping the corpse for the clothing but decided not. He was wearing a suit, dress shirt and tie, not storm worthy clothing. A winter jacket was on the floor along with winter boots. Malika took them. Under the coat was a gym bag packed with jeans, woolen shirt, and several t-shirts and boxer shorts. All were useful.

Malika began going through the truck wreckage as carefully as she did her car. A toolbox held items she might need. The flashlight and batteries would be useful. A satellite phone was in the glove compartment. With trembling hands, Malkia pressed the on the switch. They would have communication! But when activated, nothing happened. Malika wanted to weep and throw the phone away but noted the cracked case. Maybe she could find a way to fix it. Finally, she stripped the truck the way she had her vehicle. Foam, cloth, floor mats, anything that might aid in their survival.

Outside, among the wreckage were torn open grocery sacks. The local predators had feasted on bread, bologna, and pretzels. A case of Tastykake Krimpets had been raided, but several remained inside of the box.

Perhaps the predators were distracted by the food and were saving Will Monte for later. A case of beer had not completely frozen and burst open, several cans remained intact. Mr. Monte hadn't planned on being wherever he was going very long, which indicated the questionable lack of long term provisions.

In conversations with Stephanie, Malika learned her guest had been a bounty hunter but now worked for a security firm in Trenton. The company had been looking for Billy Montell in the Trenton area. Was William Monte an alias for Billy Montell? Why had he kidnapped her and driven this far? Was he lost? What was his plan? Malika surmised Stephanie Plum had escaped being murdered and left in the wilderness.

-0-

The men at Rangeman were frustrated, even the computer whiz Hector could not find Stephanie. Nobody was better than Stephanie at searching out information as her female mind did not think linearly, but took the scenic route. After all, that's one reason Ranger had offered her a job.

Time and again, she had turned down the search job saying she was not interested in a pity position, not realizing is what took her a few hours, took days for the Neanderthal-minded men. When her research was complete, she lessened the burden on Tank with the never-ending office paperwork and forms to complete for various government agencies. The business office on the second floor sang her praise and wanted her in their department full time. Business efficiency skyrocketed, men weren't buried under paperwork and could spend more time in the field. Noting she still got "antsy," Tank assigned her low bond retrieval's but only if she worked with a Rangeman partner. Lula could come along, but the Stephanie/Lula team was not permitted. He knew the three men, or actually, three-person team would celebrate after their day's work with junk food, but Stephanie's mood shifts were less, and she did not gain weight.

Since her epiphany with her father over Joe Morelli's suitability as a husband and her decision to work for Rangeman, her self image and respect slowly grew. Though only a full-time employee for a little over twelve weeks, she accepted all the required training with minimal grumbling. She had two months to reach fitness and weapons proficiency requirements, which she managed in record time. The hand to hand training needed more polishing.

To help with mental strengthening, Bobby had suggested counseling sessions with a psychologist. The breakthrough to ditch Joe and meetings with her father propelled her to work hard with the psychologist. Already a new and improved Plum was emerging.

The men at Rangeman were happy to have her in the office. Her presence had a softening action within the building. Tempers weren't as tight. If someone was having trouble, talking with Stephanie was soothing. "I'm diluting the testosterone around here," she'd joke.

The outside still presented problems. The Burg was the Burg. Beaten and ridiculed so often, she didn't recognize when she was good at something. The men were frustrated with her self deprivation. The three Core Team members took turns evaluating her each week. One week, Bobby would show her her physical fitness charts, Lester went over her client relations results, and Tank reviewed her business work. They were not just blowing wind. She could see how she was improving if she stayed within the Rangeman sphere. The times she was ventured beyond the black Rangeman cocoon for obligatory family dinner or other personal appointments, Stephanie fell back into insecurity with her good friends Ben and Jerry. Her father tried to deflect much of the Helen Plum tirades, but it was also outside the Plum house she ran into trouble.

But that began to stop, the day before Thanksgiving, her mother asked her to Giovinchini's market for last-minute items such as cheese for the coming days' leftovers sandwiches. The market always had a few Burg women ready with "tsk, tsk" comments for Stephanie about her job, unmarried status, or updates on Joe Morelli. However, this day, Bella Morelli, Joe's grandmother, had set her self up in the best ambush location to get as many onlookers as possible.

"You are scum. You were not good enough for my Joseph and broke his heart," the old lady spat.

At first, Stephanie cowered, but in a moment of newly discovered confidence, Stephanie replied, "No, Mrs. Morelli, you have that backward. Joseph Morelli is not good enough for me. I don't need another womanizer like Dickie Orr for a husband. I refuse to look the other way as other Burg women do as Joe whores his way around the city. I didn't accept it from my first husband, and I will not m my next if I chose to marry at all." Looking a Charlotte Russo, Stephanie continued, "You still entertaining Joe on Wednesday mornings, Charlotte, or is than Angela Carponi's day?"

There was a collective gasp from the assembled women. Eyes flickered between Bella, Stephanie, and Charlotte. Charlotte spat back, "Yeah, Joe said you weren't much in bed."

"Hope you make him wear a condom. I always did. That wick of his is busy, especially on Stark Street."

Another gasp went through the group. Charlotte turned and left the store.

Bella was quiet, but Stephanie knew what was coming and reached into her purse for a compact mirror. As Belle rolled her eyes up and threw her head back, Stephanie used her left hand to hold the mirror in the old woman's face while holding her right hand in the "corno," a hook-'em-horn variation of a Texas university signal. The "corno" protected against the Malvecchio (Evil Eye). Stephanie also chanted three times, "Possano i Tupi poteri Malvag, i finire Nel Norte del Padre, del figlio, e Della Spirito Santo." (May your evil powers end in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit."

The grocery was dead silent when suddenly, a chorus of amens rang out.

Bella's eyes snapped open, she looked into the mirror and saw her face. The curse she threw at Stephanie would be reflected to her. Hearing the amen chorus and seeing the "corno," she knew she was beaten. The old lady from Sicily turned and walked out of the store at a slower pace, her shoulders sagging.

Brenda, at the check out counter, whispered, "You just threw water on the wicked witch."

Stephanie didn't laugh out loud but shrugged. She had no desire to play Old World games again. By the time she delivered her purchases to her mother, news of the incident had burned through the Burg. Her grandmother whispered to her at the front door, "How did you have the courage to do that?"

As she entered the house, her father stood up from his armchair and wrapped her in his arms, "I didn't get a son, but I got a daughter with testicola."

"Am I going to have trouble with Mom?"

"Oh yeah. You might want to call Rangeman to see if they stock flame-resistant Nomex clothing before you enter the kitchen."

Stephanie whispered, "Thank you for showing me the "corno" and the prayer. I added the mirror."

"Do you think it worked?" Frank asked.

"Since she believes in the Evil Eye, yes. Maybe now she'll bother someone else."

Grandma Mazur chimed in, "What will Officer Hottie think?"

"How many times to I have to tell you, Grandma, Detective Morelli no longer exists in my book. Those pages have been torn out and burned. I frankly could care less."

"Good for you. It's time you kicked his patoot goodbye," the old lady smiled. "I can spread the news through Clip and Curl."

Stephanie was going to argue. But maybe this was the beginning of her clipping the tendrils of the Burg grapevine if Grandma didn't embellish the stories beyond believability. It was time to face Hell's flames in the kitchen.

Her mother was indeed glowing with anger. "How dare you talk to Mrs. Morelli that way, missy. Mrs. Delgrazio's daughter isn't disrespectful. I taught you better manners than that. You are an embarrassment to the family. Unless you can be more respectful, you need not come to the family dinner tonight."

Stephanie ignored her mother's rant. Her mother forgot Stephanie had told her she was not coming for dinner.

You need to get serious about marriage, and Joe Morelli is a proper Burg man. You need to forgive him and set the wedding date. I will not have a spinster in this family.

Stephanie tried to hold her laughter, but it escaped with great force, "Spinster? I was married. Now I'm divorced. Mom, my not being married is not the end of the world."

-0-

Back at Rangeman, the men were scrambling to find a lead in Stephanie's disappearance.

"Bomber did not find any indication of Montelli family in Albany? See if she missed something," Tank asked Hector.

"I will look again. If Estefania didn't find something...". The strain on all involved in the search was getting to them.

"Les and Manny have met with Detective Amici. He will be our liaison with Albany," said Tank.

"Our best bet may be Frank Plum himself. The grieving father could get us more sympathy and information."

"Good idea. I'll call Frank. He may need to stay in Albany."

"I'm sure his wife will be pleased with that," Bobby said. "Tank, call the General. If Ranger comes back right now not decompressed, this will set him back."

Tank nodded in agreement, "I'll do that now."

Several hours later, a very tired Hector came to the 5th floor. "I got into high-security law inforcement files." His Latino accent increased with the exhaustion. "Montell's records are wrong," Hector huffed. "He was in New York, not New Jersey. His mother was Adele Scorpio, daughter of Anthony Scorpio, a high ranking mob boss in Canada. His sealed family records are old and leaky. Adele wasn't married when she gave birth to Antonio Scorpio. The father of the child was Bruno Capitoli, who was gunned down by the Scorpio family. Soon after, she married Guido Montelli. Guido adopted Antonio and changed his name to Gugliemo Montelli. For obvious reasons, Gugliemo started using the name William, Will, Bill, or Billy. Somewhere he dropped the "i" from Montelli. He uses various alias but sticks with Montell or Montelli when in the Northeast. When in Canada, he uses the name Tony Scorpio probably trying to side up with his mother's family. Albany had nothing current on him, but I found mention of a William Monte running around Las Vegas up until a few weeks ago. He parently was running heroin out of Mexico and was about to be arrested."

Looking down at his notes, Hector continued, "In addition to drug-running, he is into extortion, kidnapping, slave trade through his various alias in three different countries. I'm not sure one agency has all the information. Estefania was getting close but didn't have the Albany connection.

"Why was he in Albany?" Tank asked.

Hector continued, "He has only minor misdemeanors there, from several years past. If he forgot about them, then he may think Albany is a safe haven."

"Do you think he has a special hideout?"

Slipping back into Spanish, Hector said, "_Es possible._"

-0-

"Are you mute from injury?" Stephanie asked as Malika gently helped her into a marginally more comfortable position.

Malika motioned the blow to her neck and the broken jaw.

"How long have you been here?"

Malika looked off, how long had she been here? She retrieved a piece of paper and wrote: since November 24

Stephanie's eyes opened wider. She whispered, "I was kidnapped January 17. You've been here for almost two months?"

Malika eyes opened wide. She was astounded.

"Before me, what did you do all day?" Steph asked.

Malkia mimed shovel snow, melt snow for water, gather wood, and was going to mimic digging for grubs but hesitated.

"Why haven't you tried walking out?"

Malika put her hand over her brow to mimic looking around. Then indicated high something, maybe snow.

"You don't know where we are?"

She shook her head, no. Taking a piece of paper, she wrote, "No GPS or cell."

"We are lost?"

Malika shrugged affirmative and then wrote, "I'll teach you to sign."

Stephanie nodded, "It would be better than playing charades and notes on paper scraps."

Malika nodded. They were running out of paper.

"You keep your head and face covered with the Keffiyah, are your Muslim?"

Malika indicated no then indicated her face was "broken."

"You are hiding it from me? Is it that bad?"

Once again playing charades, Malika mimicked she didn't know as she had no mirror.

Malika had looked at herself in the car soon after the accident. Her jaw was displaced. Malika had tried to realign it but nearly passed out from the pain. Now it was stationary, healing improperly. She had resent her nose as best she could but, she suspected the facial bones aside the nose had also been broken. Without a mirror, she could only feel her face and judge it's appearance. Her ear was cut in the initial attack and remained in two pieces, like a caracal cat. She didn't know how well her tape job did holding it together.

Malika indicated it was time for Stephanie to eat and drink.

"I'm not hungry," she pouted.

Malika had a surprise for her. She broke off a portion of a Tastykake and fed it to Stephanie.

Steph's eye shot open wide. "More."

Malika shook her head no and indicated she would only give Steph a tiny bit each day, but she had to earn it by eating the other food first.

"You are bribing me?"

Malika nodded, yes.

When it was time to sleep, Malika poured out several ounces of beer and indicated it was for sleeping. Stephanie's eyes opened wide again. "You hit the jackpot!" Malika indicated it was but a small jackpot.

Even with careful rationing, the surprise beer cache lasted almost ten days. Giving Steph just a portion of Tastykake a day, the treat lasted two weeks. Bribery was the only way to get Stephanie to eat the grain and wild game gruel.

"You take hospital food to a new low," Stephanie mumbled as she ate a handmade tortilla.

Giving Steph the thumb's up, Malika agreed. Though she could not eat the bread, she could smell the squirrel fat as it cooked. "Stinks," Malika signed.

"I'm dreaming of meatball sandwiches and chocolate cake." Then realizing the woman in front of her hadn't eaten in far longer, Stephanie apologized, "I'm sorry. You have been out here longer."

For the first time, Malika felt her armor crack. She had to turn away from her patient, grab her jacket, and go outside. It had snowed again, and she needed to knock the weight off the roof. It was miraculous the hovel's covering had lasted this long under the snow load. Using her rudimentary ladder, she climbed to the roof using her twig broom to sweep. She quietly wept. How much longer could she last?


	9. Chapter 9

Sorry for delay, life has interfered.

**Chapter 9**

**Three weeks missing **

Malika had spent days examining the satellite phone, taking the cover off gently, looking for broken welds. The work was as delicate as surgery, but without the magnifying goggles, she had to look carefully before touching anything. Perhaps a weld or contact could be temporally repaired for a quick call. Then again, repairing was useless if the battery is dead. If she did find something, there were no delicate tools. Looking over her supply of items stripped from the two vehicles plus the auto tool box from Billy truck, she set out to make delicate tools, similar to surgery implements, literally from junk. It would take time. Time Malika wasn't sure they had.

Malika also had a patient to tend. Stephanie's pain level was coming down in some areas, but her back continued to bother her the most. Malika had no way to determine if there had been fracture or displacement. Rest and careful, controlled movement were all she could offer. Stephanie's abdomen was still tender. The doctor knew if the internal damage had been severe, Stephanie would be dead by now. To keep pressure points from developing bedsores and reduce pneumonia chances, Malika carefully rotated the patient into new positions during cleanings. To further mitigate pneumonic problems, cyclic breathing exercises were encouraged. Her patient complained like a petulant child until Malika scowled and pointed to the makeshift door and signed, "Leave." The remorseful patient quit complaining. Stephanie knew her guardian angel, Ranger, was not coming to rescue her. Survival was in the hands of her injured rescuer.

-0-

Stephanie and Billy Montell have been missing three weeks. Using Frank Plum to get through the Albany Italian community had gained little information. There was no family history with either the Montell or Montelli family. The few family members were long gone, eternally. Scorpio, Billy's father, had also died years ago.

A lady waitress at a coffee shop knew Frank Plum and Lester Santos from their coming into the café for late afternoon espresso and biscotti or tiramisu. She was one of the few in neighborhood that even remembered Billy.

As she set down the espresso cups, she commented, "Yesterday I remembered Billy used to hang around with some kid who moved to Buffalo years ago. I asked others from the school, but nobody seems to remember him."

"How long ago?" Frank asked.

"Twenty-five years. We were all kids."

"Did Billy and this friend do anything special together like a school club or sports team?" Lester asked. They had already gone through criminal records but were denied possible juvenile files.

The waitress laughed, "Billy was always in trouble, but I don't think he had a police record. They were still boys."

"If they weren't into school activities or sports, what did Billy and his friend do?" Frank asked. Lester was learning Frank Plum was a very personable man, not the stick in the mud who isolated himself in front of the television and never spoke during meals except to say, "Pass the gravy."

The waitress pushed back a grey curl that had come loose from her hair clip while looking off into memory space, "Boy stuff like bike riding, playing the video games at the bowling alley, pitching coins against the school wall. Once they went camping. I think the other boy's family had a cabin. Billy said they went hiking and got lost for two days. Search and rescue looked for them. It might have been a story. Billy wasn't always truthful."

For the first time, Lester looked hopeful. Old records may indicate the search. "Do you know what name he was using then?"

The waitress looked at the handsome younger man who daily brightened the cafe. What did he mean by what name? "I don't understand. He was Billy Montell. What else would he use?"

"We have information he was also Gugliemo Montelli and before that Tony Scarpio or Tony Scarpia."

The waitress was confused. Had she remembered the wrong boy? As she said, it had been many years ago. Apologetically she said, "I've never heard those other names." The waitress turned and walked away.

Lester watched her walk away, hoping they had not lost their only information source. Until Frank and Lester found her, their information stream was weak, a mere trickle. "We need to have either Hector or Detective Amici contact search and rescue starting about 27 years ago."

-0-

"Sketchy at best," Detective Amici said. "State police are going to laugh us out the door. Their search and rescue records were not computerized back then. The information is in some dark basement if it is even there. It could take weeks to filter through the information. In the meantime, we came across a junior high school yearbook. We need to show it to the waitress. Perhaps she can identify the friend."

Frank spoke up, "We don't know if they even went to the same school."

"If they were hanging around Leisure Bowl to play the machines, they might have. If they were playing at Sunset Lanes, they are halfway between the two high schools. We need luck."

"Wasn't there a video store or arcade?" Lester asked. He couldn't remember ever being in a bowling alley growing up in Miami. He lived at the beach or the mall.

"Yeah, at the mall on the other side of town. I'm hoping the boys stayed in the neighborhood and not in the more modern areas across town. If they were at the mall, finding leads will be nearly impossible."

Frank, Lester, and Detective Amici took the junior high school yearbook to the waitress at the cafe. She went through it page by page, finding Gugliemo Montelli. Recognizing the face, she said, "I thought his name was Billy Montell, not Montelli. At least that was what we called him.

I wonder how many others were confused?"

She couldn't find who might have been Billy's friend. "It's been a long time. I don't think Billy's friend is here."

Two days later, Detective Amici procured two high school yearbooks. Frank and Lester took them to the waitress. Once again, she carefully reviewed each page. "I'm not sure. I don't think Billy's friend is here. I'm sorry."

**Five weeks missing**

Malika knew she needed more firewood. She was cooking more for her patient and trying to keep the cabin warmer. The cabin was a generous term. It was a shack, maybe a hunter's emergency shelter. When Malika found it, she stuffed the wall holes with foam from her car and Billy's truck. Bark slabs filled other holes. The snow level outside continued to creep up the outside walls. Malkia had to keep the snow off the walls to reduce condensation inside. Not always successful, some mornings, the inside walls were coated in ice. Once the cabin started to warm with the coming spring, the whole structure would probably fall from rot.

In her wood and bark gathering, she had found several rotten trees and dug into them for grubs and egg cases. There was no way her guest would eat egg cases, so Malika was carefully mixing them into the oatmeal. Not only was she looking for food, but also signs of civilization; a cabin, power transmission lines, or an unplowed road. All the activity kept Malika's mind active, but physically she was wearing down. She was not consuming enough calories to compensate for her actions. As she weakened, she lost track of the date. Lengthening daylight told her spring would come, the snow would melt, and people would return. But with this record snowfall, the melt would be slow. She and Stephanie may not last that long.

When the doctor entered the hut after a wood and food foray, Stephanie tried to show excitement, "Did you bring back more bark and twigs? I always accused Ranger of eating them. I never thought I would be, too."

Malika smiled. To test Stephanie, she held out the can with the latest captures as if to ask, "Wanna see?"

"Nooooo, thank you. I'm not ready to be chewing on bark unless it is cinnamon."

If only they were in the jungle, the pickings would be better. The ground would not be frozen and animals more plentiful, especially grubs and insects. Even with the risk of monkey to human disease transfer, monkey meat sounded great right now. Still, Malika's trapping skills kept them in a lump of small animal meat once a week or so. The bird meat was palatable, but the "other stuff" Steph assured her was a bit, gamey, and needed juniper berries to make it edible. If Stephanie knew what she was actually eating, she would need the juniper berries to make gin to become drunk enough to be eating squirrel.

Malika signed, "Think no food. Tell your life."

The more she could keep Stephanie occupied, she would forget her pain. Since Stephanie was now sitting up, the talking would further help her lungs stay clear.

Stephanie began her life in the Burg. Malika could relate to a dominating parent. Arkady insisted Malika remain out of his sight, confined to her room when he was home. When they did travel as a family, all Arkady would say to her was to correct her. There was never love. Her salvation was Ivan Rostov, who showed her love and helped her mature.

Malika cut in, "Mother love you?"

"I don't remember her going out of her way to hug me and tell me she loved me. Our family deals with emotions and problems through food. A good meal, including dessert, allowed us to bond without speaking. A special meal, a personal favorite, was akin to 'Good job' or 'You are forgiven.' The only time I can remember my mother verbally saying she was proud of me was when I married. When I filed for divorce three months later after catching his adultery in action, I was not allowed to return home. 'Work it out' was all my mother said. Each time Joe and I separated, she told me to 'work it out.' She never understood..." trailed away, lost in thought and emotion.

"Continue," Malika signed.

"After the divorce, I had a new job in Newark as a lingerie buyer. While the job wasn't what I expected, I made enough to cover commuting to Newark and a lower rent apartment. It was time to heal. But after a few years, the government shut the business down for illegal money laundering by the owners. For months I looked for a job, falling into depression and desperation. I blackmailed my cousin for a bounty hunter job. The office manager called in favor with another bounty hunter to show me the ropes." Stephanie smiled. "His name is Ranger, and, well, we are best friends, but I wish more."

"More?"

"I love him, but he was an Army Ranger and now does government contract jobs. Do you know what that means?"

Malika nodded yes and signed, "Dangerous."

"Yes, it is. Because of the danger, he doesn't do relationships. I've bounced back and forth between Ranger and Joe."

"Joe?"

"That will take time to explain."

Stephanie went into detail about the Morelli family, especially the father, Anthony. The two Morelli sons were the type boys mothers warn their daughters to avoid.

"Unfortunately, at age six, Joe Morelli sexually molested me. My mother blamed me, not Joe. As Joe got older, he became the handsome bad boy, intriguing to girls. I was intrigued but kept my distance. We had no interaction until ten years later when he waltzed into the bakery where I worked, locked the door, and forcefully stole my virginity. If that wasn't bad enough, he proceeded to tag the community bragging of his conquest. The next day he went into the Navy, and I suffered the fallout. My mother assumed I threw myself at him. I didn't. I was too afraid to fight back, knowing how his father abused his mother. My punishment was immediate grounding for three months and loss of dating privedges. Two years later, Joe returned from the Navy. I saw him walking down the sidewalk and ran him over in my father's car, breaking his leg." Stephanie paused and looked at Malika, who was giving her a thumbs up.

Stephanie smiled and continued, "My godfather, Joe Juniak, was a captain in the police force. I later learned, there was a deal between my godfather, the police, my father, and Joe. The cops would overlook Joe Morelli's less than stellar Navy discharge so he could enter the police academy, and I was not charged for assault. When the Newark job failed, I needed a job. That's when I became a bounty hunter, and Joe was my first case."

Malika tipped her head and signed, "What?"

"He was wrongly accused of murder and skipped his court appearance to prove himself innocent. I was trying to apprehend him, getting in his way, mostly. In the end, I tricked him, locking him in a truck's cargo box and drove him to the police station. Evidence of his innocence was also present. When the dust settled, he stopped by my apartment to thank me and waltzed me into the bedroom. So began several years of an on and off romance."

Malika signed, "Why off?"

"It's complicated. I was still trying to please my mother by marrying a Burg man, but in my heart, I didn't want to marry. Joe was nothing more than good sex and companionship."

Malika stopped her and signed, "He raped you before."

Step looked contrite. "All I heard was 'he's changed.' I tried to believe that, but something inside of me never fully trusted him. Everything in our relationship was about his needs, never mine. I would have a lousy day bounty hunting, actually a lot of bad days, and instead of comforting me and offering to help me improve my skills, he'd yell at me. He said he didn't want a bounty hunter for a wife and mother to his children. I didn't want to be a mother and housewife with children. Eventually, I learned he was still playing the field even while he was trying to force me into marrying him." Stephanie looked off and got teary, "I wanted to be loved, adored, and respected. Joe never did. Ranger did, but he wasn't into committed relationships. I loved one but was willing to settle for something I truly didn't want to gain my mother's and community's respect."

Malika signed, "Mother" and mimicked a ring going onto the ring finger and rocking a baby in her arms.

Stephanie whispered, "Yeah, my mother said I should be a wife and mother."

Malika nodded no signed, "Age mother wed."

Since Stephanie's signing was slow, Malika couldn't be more verbose. "Oh, the age my mother wed. She was nineteen. All she ever wanted was to be a housewife and mother. She worked a year at the market before she met my father. To her, being a mother is a woman's only requirement. That and maintaining a house. I've never liked being home, tied to a house, and the responsibilities. She tried to teach me to cook or clean, but when I did something wrong, she'd yell at me and call me incompetent. I would have to learn how to keep the house if I expected to get married."

To change Stephanie's mindset, Malika signed, "Tell me Ranger."

Stephanie paused, "You signed tell me about Ranger, right?"

Malika nodded, yes.

Stephanie relaxed. Malika was right. Thinking about her mother and this Joe fellow was too intense right now. Being stuck in a cold shack with bug gruel for food was depressing enough. Stephanie could talk for hours about the man she called Ranger. The talk took Stephanie away from her current problems and pain. As she spoke, she was thinking, analyzing. "He isn't into a committed relationship, but yet he is there when I need him...if he's in town. No matter how bad my life is, Ranger was there."

"How?" Malkia signed.

"He encouraged me, comforted me when I failed. He didn't yell at me like Joe. He is the only one to say he was proud of me."

Malkia gave the "continue" sign.

"Everyone considered me a joke expecting me to screw up and provide entertainment for…" Stephanie froze, remembering Ranger saying he wrote her expenses off as entertainment. The look in her eyes showed she was slipping back, losing the relaxed state. "People laughed at me. The newspapers made me a joke. The cops bet on me. Daily pools would be about when I lost another car, arrive covered in garbage, and so on," she whispered. "The Merry Men didn't bet on me."

"Who Merry Men?"

"Sorry, I jumped ahead. Rangeman is Ranger's company. He employs former military and a few rehabilitated gang members selected for their experience. They are gentlemen. Maybe it is the military training and discipline Ranger insists they carry into the business. Also, they know Ranger would beat the shit out of them if they disrespected me. I call Ranger, Batman, but I can't call the guys Boys Robin. Merry Men fits better."

Malika signed, "They like name?"

"Probably not, but they don't complain. They protect me. When I'm hurt, they are concerned."

"How do you treat them?"

Stephanie had never thought about that. She looked off, finally muttering, "Like they are my brothers. If they are hurt or depressed, I go out of my way to visit them, talk to them. The men say I am their light. More likely, I am their comic relief."

SMACK! Malika's hand it the wood floor since there was no table to hit. "Stop comic."

Stephanie looked confused.

Malika huffed and slowly spelled out, "Degrading self."

"Yes, it is degrading to be called..." Stephanie stopped and realized Malkia meant Stephanie need to stop degrading herself. Why was she doing that?

Malika watched as Stephanie internalized her thoughts, sometimes mumbling phrases out loud. "They have been through Hell. Most have no family. Ranger and Tank are their commanders but also parents, providing leadership, discipline, but also physical and emotional care. Rangeman is more like a family." Looking up, Stephanie questioned, "Do they consider me part of the family?"

"Maybe."

"I'm family, not entertainment? Families do not gossip or demean like my mother, sister, and friends, including Connie, Lula, and Mary Lou. Others try to control me or use me for their entertainment. Why?"

Malika flexed her arms and shook her head. Stephanie was confused until she realized Malika as indicating Stephanie lacked…strength.

"Strength? I don't understand."

Trying to communicate complicated ideas through signing was hard for the most adept user, which Malika was not. Trying to get a novice to understand was near impossible. The doctor thought about how she would advise Stephanie to take control of her own life. Malika put her hand under her chin and flicked her hand forward in a sign all Italians understood, "Fuck off."

Steph's eyes opened wide, and she started laughing and quickly coughing. Pneumonia was still a possibility. "You don't know how many times I've wanted to give people the single finger wave, other than motorists where it is considered normal. I would be run out of the Burg if I did that."

Malkia nodded. "Mother yes, Burg, no. Strength like Ranger."

Stephanie remembered how she had fought off Grandma Bella in the market. Hadn't she, in essence, told the old lady to stuff it?

Steph also remembered how proud her father had been after. Was she beginning to stand up? Would she ever learn to live her own life, not one dictated by the Burg?

Malika gave her time to think and then asked, "What you want?"

Shrugging, Stephanie answered, "To get out of here."

Shaking her head, Malika signed again, "With life."

After a long silence, Stephanie whispered, "Respect, security, and I don't want to be alone."

Malika let her ponder her answer before signing, "Security?"

"I want to be able to support myself. My divorce took everything I had. Then when the lingerie buyer job failed, I was still broke. I'm tired of living from hand to mouth. Relying on my family for food and Ranger for cars has been embarrassing. Only since I've been working at Rangeman has my bank account been viable."

"What if Ranger were gone?" Malika signed.

"I'd be up Shit Creek."

Malika nodded and signed, "Start building boat."

"Boat? Don't you mean Ark?"

"Plan and do," Malika indicated.

Stephanie looked confused. Plan and do what?

Malika slowly began signing, "You live in moment, no goals. You dream. No do." She first signed, "Life" and then showed to fingers climbing up a ladder. Again, Malika signed, "You" and showed the two fingers walking on a level service, sometimes tipping over.

"Things keep happening to me," Stephanie sniffed.

Immediately Malika slammed her hand down in disgust, breaking Stephanie's whine. Malika thought she might end up with a broken hand if she had to continually pull Stephanie back with the floor slap. What the cabin needed was a big metal pot and spoon to bang instead of the floor. "Loser!" It was harsh and not the proper term, but Stephanie wasn't the best at reading sign.

Before Stephanie could be offended, Malika signed, "Speak Albany wedding out loud."

Stephanie began rehashing the Albany trip that resulted in being stranded in the wilderness. Initially, Stepanie was upbeat how well she had handled her mother and her father's proud expression. But then Billy Montell happened, just as so many of her apprehensions had gone wrong. For the first time in her career, Stephanie asked, "What did I do wrong? I went someplace private, called Tank. I didn't try to take down Billy Montell. Yet, Billy stunned me and kidnapped me. What did I do wrong?"

Smiling behind her scarf, Malika realized the "it wasn't my fault" excuse was breaking.

Malika carefully spelled out P-O-L-I-C-E.

Stephanie paused. "I should have called the police? Wouldn't that have caught Billy's attention?"

Malika shook her head no. "Angelo."

Stephanie's eyes shot open, "I should have told Angelo and let him deal with it, not call Rangeman first?"

Malika's thumbs shot upward.

"I separated myself from Silvio. I didn't have to go to the restroom, I should have go back to Angelo. I put myself at risk, and I wasn't aware of my surroundings," she sighed. How many times had Ranger, Lester, and the Merry Men chided her on rushing off, not thinking ahead, and being oblivious to what was happening around her? Was it the lack of combat experience, or was it the self-centered need to do things by herself, in her way? "I'm used to doing things myself."

Malika carefully signed, "Your big problem."

"Your problem, I mean, my problem?

Signing, "OK, ask help."

"Help? I go to a therapist."

Malika was getting a bit frustrated. "Stubborn," she signed.

At first, Stephanie was offended being called stubborn, but the more she thought, it was what she had been all her life. She considered it an attribute, thinking for herself. In her need to separate herself from her dominating mother, she had rejected advice continuously. The only two people she listened to were her father and Ranger. Stephanie sat back, "I've been trying to prove myself, by myself. I've refused training because I thought I knew how to do it after I brought in my first case. Only recently have I been been training with Rangeman, but have only gotten marginally better with time. I did not work hard enough because...I'm stubborn. I can handle the easy cases, but I am not prepared for the unexpected and don't have the training to know what to do."

Malika nodded and clapped her hands. Stephanie was thinking.

"But I've done OK so far."

Malkia shook her head no. She mimed, driving a car and then an explosion.

"Those weren't my fault."

Another loud rap on the floor caused Stephanie to jump. Malkia signed, "Stop that shit. Yes, your fault." It was hard to yell when one didn't have a voice.

"How were they my fault?" Stephanie stormed. Rhino mode was threatening.

Malkia signed, "No good partner. No one watching. Ranger no boom."

"No, Ranger's vehicles don't explode because people know he or other Rangemen will hunt them down."

Malika nodded.

"My reputation is a softy. I didn't have a backup because I'm trying to prove myself to others."

"Why?"

"Because I'm….

"What?" Malika was pushing Stephanie to think.

"Looking for approbation."

"Why?"

"From…" Stephanie froze. Her father was right. She was still looking for approval from her mother. Emotionally Stephanie was still a child. Did her mother ignore her in her infancy? Was she never coddled? Was the problem all her mother? If any of the answers were yes, what now? Fully realizing how toxic her mother had been in her life, and the closed-minded Burg, Stephanie Plum was returning to her mindset at the beginning of the Albany trip when she was showing strength. For weeks the pain and fear were erasing Stephanie's fight that kept her sane in what Malika had begun to believe was an aberration of Hell called Chambersburg. Stephanie Plum was gaining maturity before Albany. Now she needed to get back her drive and spirit.

Malkia then challenged her patient, "Be stubborn here and live. When home, be smart."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

The Atlantic Ocean was churning; another winter storm was coming in. The grey sky melded perfectly into the grey. Arkady watched from the large condo window as the ocean beat itself along the coast. The sea exactly matched his mood. He wanted to hit someone. Years past he would use his fist, now age had set in. He would need a tool, a baton, or a short club. A handgun would be more efficient but less satisfying.

The Oceana condo complex in Brighton Beach in Brooklyn was home to Urban Millennials and wealthy Russian Immigrants. Situated between Coney Island and Manhattan Beach, seventy percent of the population in this neighborhood spoke almost exclusively Russian or other Eastern European languages. Restaurants, clubs, bars, and shops catered to the Russian speakers.

The _Bratva_-Brotherhood or Russian Mob had a significant presence in the Oceana complex as well as the neighborhood. Most had immigrated illegally to the US when the Soviet Union fell in the '90s. The American immigration laws were a joke. One simply came in on a tourist visa with a fake name and walked into oblivion. Nobody checked up on your status unless you crossed the police. Forget the sanctuary status, just get in and then avoid the police or pay them off.

The influx of Millenials hadn't lessened the _Bratava's_ internal power. It was Vyacheslav Ivankov's death causing the power vacuum. Arkady had no interest in setting up a permanent presence in New York, while _Bratava's_ leadership was still nebulous. He knew not to choose sides. It was safer to wait for the dust to settle before paying respects.

Arkady turned to his assistant, Nicolai, "Where is she?"

The short, barrel chest man, twenty years younger than Arkady answered without emotion or fear, "She was working in the Veteran's hospital in Montana and had recently transferred to the Albany facility. We tried to get her, but she outmaneuvered our men. The Air Force listed her missing without leave and is actively looking for her."

"Do you think they arrested her?"

"They have no leads. They have searched hospitals, clinics, and morgues for someone matching her description."

"And the men sent to take her?"

"Dead, they lost control on the slippery roads and hit a bridge support."

"If the military finds her, do we have contacts to grab her?"

"Not at present."

"Then we must find her first. This is the third time she has escaped my control."

-0-

Malika scooped the snow into her makeshift carrier to take into their "home." The total square footage was less 70 square feet, hardly spacious. At least the snow was plentiful for melting.

They could stay hydrated, if not clean. There was no soap. If God were generous, he'd drop a moose outside the door, and they'd have meat to eat and fat to make soap. Their guardian angels were doing the best they could, providing water and small game. There was no moose or deer in sight and no large cauldron for rendering fat to make soap.

There was no privacy in the confined space. Malika waited until Stephanie slept to do her toilette. Unbeknownst to Malika, one morning, Stephanie watched when Malika undid her _keffiyeh_ to wash her face and upper body. For the first time, Stephanie saw the slashed ear, the misaligned jaw, broken nose. Mostly she saw the emancipated body. Between being unable to eat more than a little gruel and the physical effort involved in keeping the snows from collapsing the hut, hunting for food, and caring for Stephanie, Malika was beyond thin. She appeared to be starving. Stephanie looked at her arms and realized she was no better. Her body fat reserves were gone. For a moment, she wondered how many dress sizes she had lost.

Recently Malika had been able to get Stephanie upright, onto her feet to walk a few steps around the small space. "Come spring, we can walk out of here," Stephanie said with enthusiasm. It was the first hopeful note Malika's patient had uttered. Malika wondered if either of them would see spring or a rescuer. There was a benefit being mute. She could not voice her concerns to Stephanie.

-0-

Malika had spent several days carefully crafting delicate tools to use when opened the satellite phone. It was time to look inside. Malika cautiously opened the sat phone's back. Peering into the phone, she saw a tiny crack in the motherboard and broken connection. Could she use a piece of salvaged wire, heat it, and mend the contact?

She worked carefully. Such delicate work wasn't difficult for a surgeon. The problem was Malika was weak from malnutrition, and her hands had begun to shake. Knowing she might have to make a weld, she had been practicing with wire and flame to learn how to make minute metal melts, not globs. Carefully holding the wire in an insulated clamp and the burning twig in another, she created a contact bridge. At best, the bridge might last through several seconds of use. When the repair cooled, she replaced the battery and switched on the phone. It showed power, not much, but it was something. She quickly turned it off.

Taking a piece of paper. "Rangeman number?"

"You fixed it?" Stephanie asked with disbelief and excitement.

Holding her hands up, Malika showed her crossed fingers.

Sat phones use one of two relay systems. The first was geosynchronous satellites at higher elevations along the equator. Two problems existed with the equatorial satellites. One was the extra power needed to reach them. Power they did not have. The second problem was aiming. The ladies' survival hut sat in a narrow valley preventing proper alignment.

The second relay system was the more numerous LEO, low earth-orbiting satellites located throughout the lower latitudes. Aiming wasn't critical.

Malika powered up the phone, waiting for their coordinates to appear. Quickly shutting off the phone, she handed to Stephanie with written instructions, "Give name, say mountains/forest,' and read these coordinates."

"Couldn't they track it?"

"Not enough power," Malika wrote but knowing the repair was more likely to fail first before the battery.

With trembling hands, Stephanie punched in the Rangeman Trenton number. She was horrified; her hands shook nearly as much as Malika's. When she heard, "This is Rangeman…" Stephanie began speaking, not realizing there was a time lag with satellite phones. The garbled message received at Rangeman was, "Fanny…bomb… fails…straw… mountains…wesson."

Cal replayed the call twice, before calling Tank. "Listen to this call. What do you hear?"

"Didn't you get an ID?"

"No, nothing."

After listening to the call twice, Tank roared, "It's Little Girl, Stephanie. Get Hector!"

Activity at Rangeman kicked into high gear. The electronic experts and Core Team kept replaying the recording, trying to decipher what was said. Hector spoke, "Let me work on it." After working for a while, Hector had a little more: Effany, Bomber, failsaf, stranded, mountains, wesson.

"We couldn't get a readout on the phone call it's self. The transmission was too short, weak, and garbled," Lester reported.

"So the call didn't come through cell towers," Tank asked.

Hector nodded no and said, "Failsaf could be failing satellite phone."

"We need to know areas around upper New York and Vermont, where there is no cell coverage that also has mountains." Tank was already formulating a search program.

Bobby was dejected, "If it was a sat phone, it could be anywhere in the world."

"Did we get any satellite signal?"

Hector answered, "Nothing positive. It might be an LEO satellite over the Eastern sector...US, Canada."

"That doesn't narrow it down much," Bobby moaned.

Lester was looking at a map, "It helps confirm our suspicions. The wesson doesn't refer to the cooking oil, but perhaps west seventy-something. If it is seventeen west, that would be the west coast of Africa or the Azores."

"So 70 west is what? Mid Maine to…?" Bobby wondered aloud.

"Maine to the east border of Ohio, plus Canada," Tank answered. "The waitress said Billy Montell went camping. We've been working on the premise it is in New York or New England. I'd hate to now include parts of the Appalachians and Canada."

Turning back to the window at the unusual amount of snow for Trenton this time of year, Bobby shook his head, "If she's in the Adirondacks, it's been a hell of a winter. They are continually getting buried. It is the worst winter ever recorded."

-0-

The search for Billy's camping buddy was kicked back into high gear. The search stretched into Canada when someone remembered Billy had an aunt named Candy. Hector's computers hummed as he programmed in various combinations of Candy Scorpio or Scarpia with an estimated birth date twenty or more years older than Billy. The list was long. Finally, he narrowed it down to a few dozen possible candidates, some of whom had died, most of whom had new married names. Rangeman contacted the Albany police for help in reviewing the list, but did not share how they developed the list. Several high security search engines were used plus one, slightly illegal engine Hector kept secret.

Detective Amici interviewed Carina Brunelleschi in Montreal. She admitted she was a half-sister to Bill Montelli. When contacted, she said she didn't know Billy very well. Her unmarried mother was pregnant and moved down into the States to bear the child.

Carina thought her mother was going through menopause, but apparently, all her hormones weren't dried up. Carina talked out her memories, including a trip to the States to visit her mother and teenage half brother and came up with a friend's name, Brian.

Brian was an odd name for Albany's Italian neighborhoods. The search for yearbooks extended through Albany and surrounding communities, including private schools. The very patient waitress plowed through the volumes page by page when suddenly she looked carefully at one boy. "This could be him," she whispered.

Brian Stockmeyer went to a private school outside of Albany. A cousin remembered his aunt would take the boy with her to Albany to visit an Italian friend. Brian and Billy couldn't be more different. Billy was poor. Brian's family was wealthy. Upon high school graduation, Brian went to Harvard.

Further research revealed Brian died in the Twin Towers attack in 2001. He was an only child, and his parents deceased. But most importantly, the cousin vaguely remembered a camp in the Adirondacks.

With the last name Stockmeyer, the search through property tax records began. Initially, researches suspected the cabin/camp story was one of Billy's tales. Perhaps not. Finally, old records indicated the Stockmeyers owned a cabin or camp as was the regional term, in the Adirondacks, but the cabin disappeared from the records. Rangeman had a destination. The problem was the horrendous snow levels in the region. Using Rangeman's helicopter, they saw no sign of the cabin. There was no road apparent in the deep snow, though a clearing may have once been a trail. Was the survey plat incorrect? After repelling from the aircraft, Les and Cal skied around looking for signs of a previous cabin. Cal noticed nearby scorched trees. If there had been a cabin, it probably burned down years before.

Stephanie and Malika waited one day, two days, three days for rescue. The ladies heard nothing because the search party was on the far side of the mountain. "They didn't get the message," Stephanie moaned. Malika agreed. Their other option was cell phones. Each held a small charge, but Stephanie's had the most. The problem had always been, no reception. Now that Stephanie was relatively stable and could care for herself for several hours, Malika could leave her for more extended periods. If Malika could snowshoe up one of the tallest peaks in the area, perhaps there was a cell tower within 22 miles, the maximum distance a cell phone can find a relay tower. Unlike high-frequency radio waves that can bounce off the ionosphere, especially at night, cells' lower frequency had to work on a line of sight, tower to tower. But the signal is lessened if it is raining. The electronic signal wave heats water vapor as it moves. Snow is not usually a problem as there is enough air between the snowflakes to prevent signal loss. While the snow wasn't an atmospheric problem, the depth was. Several hundred inches had fallen, resulting in over ten feet base depth. Malika had kept their hovel's door clear of snow, but exiting the door meant climbing up a snow slope.

Then there was still the matter of getting to a point high enough for the phone to find a tower. In Malika's early explorations, she noted nearly all the mountain summits had trees to their tops. Only one had a nob that would allow a signal open sky access. If she could get the phone up to the nob and hoist it up higher, plus have enough power to get a signal, maybe they could get help.

For days she gathered extra firewood and scrounged for food for Stephanie. "These aren't nuts, are they?" Stephanie asked as she looked onto a makeshift cup.

Malika signed, "Groundnuts." They were dried insect pupa, which Malika had dug from under a rotting tree. Malika would mix them into the waning flour supply to make flatbread.

Stephanie could melt snow for water, tend the fire, but could not cook. At least she ate. As long as she didn't know what she was eating, she could choke down anything.

One morning the temperature took a sudden dive. Malika went outside and noted the smoke from the small chimney wasn't rising. An air inversion would further help cell transmission. The attempt had to be now. Malika woke Stephanie and wrote, "Going up the mountain with the phone. Pray."

She set out on her homemade snowshoes, angling up. Five exhausting hours later, she was on an open, rocky nob near the mountain top. Digging out her water supply and flatbread, she rolled the two in her cheek, making a gruel she could swallow. Looking over the view as she rested, there were no roads, buildings, transmission lines, and worst of all, no nearby cell tower. She hoped there was one within the 22-mile transmission limit. To get the phone up as high as possible, she used the hand saw to cut longer branches, strip them as best she could. Tieing them to form a tripod, she attached red cloth strips Stephanie had torn from clothing. She had already used some pieces to mark the trail up here. As an afterthought, Malika sketched out a map to the shelter. Her hands shook so badly she figured it looked more like children's scribble. She covered the paper with cloth strips and tied it to the tripod. Using a portion of the rope, she secured the tripod to neighboring trees. The rest was for hoisting the phone higher.

Convinced she had done all she could, and without a voice to speak, Malika turned on the phone. One bar appeared and faded but returned. She hoped raising the phone would add a bar or two. With luck, Rangeman, or whatever Stephanie called them, could get the GPS coordinates before the batteries ran down. She then hoisted the phone to the top of the frame.

Half a day had passed since leaving Stephanie in the shelter. Malika needed to get back to the cabin. She was grateful she had marked the trail. Physical exertion had left her confused. As she stood looking for the next red cloth strip, the ground below her gave way. She didn't realize she was standing on a snow cornice. Away she went, down the slope. She felt her leg snap. "Damn," she thought. "I've failed, Stephanie." Not long later, Malika lost consciousness.

Hector sat in the Break Room with Raphael and Lester. They had just finished lunch when Hector's phone vibrated against his leg. Removing the phone from his cargo pants, he looked at the caller and jumped to his feet "Estefania!" Stephanie had accidentally written down Hector's phone, not Rangeman's.

"Estefania? Estefania!" But there was only silence. The others were dumbstruck by Hector's outburst. Rangemen followed Hector as he ran down the stairs to his basement lair. Crowding into Hector's work area, they watched his hands fly across the key board as he continued yelling into his phone, "Estefania, Stephanie...talk!" The signal was weak, but with some slightly illegal tapping into the tower company's server and using three weak signals, Hector was able to determine the phone's location.

"Damn," Tank rumbled as he used a second computer to call up a map. "The phone is in a wilderness on the opposite side of the mountain where the cabin should have been. We were on the wrong side of the fucking mountain!" Looking at the clock, "It's already mid-afternoon." He left unspoken was they couldn't possibly get there before nightfall.

Lester was already calling Detective Amici and handed the phone to Tank. The detective was excited but cautions, "It would take hours to begin a ground rescue. Let me call the Army."

The call went to Fort Drum on the east side of Lake Ontario, home of the 19th Mountain Division. Winter search and rescue was part of the division's mission. They had trained men and needed equipment for immediate deployment. Within 20 minutes, a six-man crew in a Black Hawk helicopter was in the air. They needed to hustle. Sunset would be in a few hours.

Zeroing on the coordinates, the rescue crew could just make out the tripod, and red ties fluttering on the nob. One person rappelled down to the ground and reported back he had the phone and a map of sorts. Looking around, he saw snow prints and red cloth strips leading downhill.

"I've got a crude map, snow tracks moving southeast and more red tie markers. I'll follow the trail. You look for a shelter."

The Army Black Hawk helicopter swung downhill. Using FLIR (Forward Looking Infrared cameras), they flew southeast, searching for a heat source. Fifteen minutes later, they identified a small hot spot, a possible chimney, five air miles, but easily twice the ground miles, from the rocky nob. As they flew closer, they could make out a roof barely above the surrounding snow level and a slit in the snow indicating passage. The FLIR read the heat source and a single person inside.

Stephanie could hear the helicopter moving overhead. "It worked," she sobbed. "Angel, it worked!" Hanging onto the makeshift door for support, she tried to wave, but standing was requiring all her energy.

A second rescuer rappelled down and slid down the snow chute to the front door. "Are you Stephanie Plum?"

"YES! Did you get Angel? She set up the phone?"

The rescue medic realized the barely standing emaciated woman was in no shape for climbing mountains.

He quickly radioed, "I've got Plum, another person may still be out there."

"You've got to find her!" Stephanie implored.

"We are looking, ma'am."

-0-

The rescuer with Stephanie called down for a litter. Once secure, he went back to the cabin to get Stephanie. "I'm going to carry you. If it is too painful, let me know."

He was gentle, but she had to bite her lip to keep from screaming out. Fortunately, he didn't have to carry her far. Once secured, the Army rescuer said, "We are going up now. We have to hurry. It is nearly dark."

Stephanie detested flying, especially in helicopters. A new horror was being lifted into one while it was in the air. She scrunched her eyes shut, trying not to panic with the litter's motion and the aircraft's thumping. Finally, she heard, "Ma'am, you are inside now, secure."

As soon as Stephanie and the rescuer were secured, the aircraft swung uphill to look for the second victim. The initial rescuer waited at a spot where snowshoe tracks ended. Using the infrared cameras, the pilot made several passes until they found Malika down the slope, partially buried in the snow. Using the helicopter's light, the two rescuers dug out Malika, secured her, and all three were safely back in the aircraft heading for Albany.

The first call went to Detective Amici, who contacted Tank. In turn, Tank called Frank Plum. "Frank, we can fly you to Albany if you can get to the Mercer County Airport promptly."

Frank Plum looked at his wife, passed out drunk on the couch, "I'll call Valerie to come to take care of her mother. I'll meet you at the airport in 15 minutes."

Tank, Bobby, and Frank Plum were nearing Albany when the call came to Trenton Rangeman. Ranger had returned from his last mission and was calling for pick up at the Newark airport, general aviation area. Lester went to get Ranger instead of Tank.

Ranger surprised to see Lester. "Where's Tank?"

"He's on his way to Albany, and so are we." Lester took Ranger's duffle and walked to a nearby plane. Throwing the duffle into the cargo compartment, Lester indicated Ranger needed to get into the small plane.

Ranger held off asking his questions until after take-off, and the noise had dropped. "What the fuck is so important in Albany."

Lester tried to calm himself. "Stephanie was kidnapped nine weeks ago. She finally got a message out and rescue from Ft. Drum picked her up about sunset and flew her to Albany Trauma. Frank Plum, Tank, and Bobby should be arriving about now."

As Les expected, Ranger exploded, "Nine weeks? What the hell have you been doing? Why has it taken so long? Did that bastard Vinnie send her after a higher bond?" Ranger demanded.

"Hold on, before you go Gonzo Ape-Shit, this wasn't her fault. A lot has happened since you left. Her father finally kicked himself in the ass and started counseling her. After conversations and photo evidence of Joe's extra-sexual activities, and the gossiping by her so-called friends, she asked Tank for a full-time position. Tank explained the requirements, and she signed the contract. She's serious about changing her life. "

Ranger looked at Lester as if he was speaking a foreign language. Ranger thought back to his conversation with Frank before leaving for this last mission. "We had photos of Joe's activities as well but didn't dare show them to her," Ranger muttered.

"Frank had a cab fare who hinted about Joe's moral depravity. Frank and two of his friends collected evidence of Joe's activities. Frank asked us if we had any information about Joe. We gave him our pictures, and Tank sent another team out to gather more." Lester stopped and shook his head, "Geez, I'm nowhere near as randy as Joe, what a man-whore."

"Are you certain she's not in another time out with Joe?"

"No, it's final. Beautiful considers blatant cheating inexcusable. Joe was not only banging Burg women but also women throughout Mercer County. In a private conversation with me, she admitted you and she had limited sexual contact, but plenty of necking, but mostly during her time off from Joe. Since the breakup, she's avoided anything Burg. Her disappearance in Albany now only registers with her family."

"How did her mother react to Joe's end? That woman wants her daughter married and popping out kids."

Lester began, "Mrs. Plum began hitting the bottle heavy when Frank showed her the pictures of Joe in action. Of course, his wife blamed Beautiful for causing Joe to fish elsewhere. Frank forbade Joe from ever entering HIS home. If his wife insisted Joe come, she could leave with Joe."

"Could Joe be part of Babe's kidnapping?"

"Beautiful told him she was preparing to leave Trenton. She wanted a life far from Burg-wife and mother. He seems to have moved on and is dating two women with some regularity."

Ranger's granite face was solid. "She is leaving?"

"She told Tank since Joe was history and you were noncommittal, she would work at Rangeman to get experience, a resume, and a nest egg to leave. She passed the physical fitness requirements and the weapon's training but had yet to take the hand to hand and apprehension tests. In the meantime, she's working searches, information gathering, and helping Tank with the office work. We worked together on client relations. She's a natural in public relations."

"Where is she living?"

"In her apartment. It's low rent allowing her to save her money to move on. She refused to move into Rangeman or your apartment."

"Why? They are safer than her apartment."

"As I said, she's moving on with her life. Ending the relationship with Joe and finally standing up to her mother, Beautiful is growing up. As for you and her, that is up to you two." Lester glanced at his cousin but said nothing more.

Ranger remained quiet but flexed his jaw muscles as he thought. Is he too out of her life? He had finally admitted to himself she was very much a part of his, more than he realized and admittedly wanted. All women before Stephanie looked at him as a sexual object or deep pockets. They played up to him for their own needs and wishes. Babe did not want his money, but his friendship and companionship. Her stubborn independence intrigued him, but not her emotional Burg-stunted development. Where does he fit in her new life? Did he want this new woman?

Lester continued, "We know who took her and had been looking for Billy Montell in the Trenton area but had nothing, zero. Beautiful went to a Plum family wedding in Albany. Since she hasn't been doing FTAs, we thought it safe. We did not know about Montell's Albany connection."

"So, what went wrong?"

"She contacted us from the wedding reception telling us Billy was there. Tank told her to do nothing until we could get a team in Albany. She agreed. About an hour late, we got a call from the police, Beautiful was missing from the reception.

"Frank Plum and I have been up there working our way through the community. The Montell's barely made a ripple years ago. We found a half-sister in Canada who is 19 years older than Billy. Her mother was 43 when she bore a son with Antoine Scarpia. Soon after, she gave birth to Anthony, Antoine died."

"Who's Anthony?"

"Let me finish. The mother later married Alphonso Montelli. Yeah, she had a thing for men's names starting with the letter A. Alphonso adopted the baby and renamed him Gugliemo Montelli. Over the years, Gugliemo has used the names Will Scarpia or Scorpio, William Monte, Bingo Monte, Billy, and Bill Montell."

"Antoine Scarpia is an old gang name. Major crime family if I remember correctly," Ranger mumbled.

"That's the one. The Albany Montellis didn't welcome the woman and her son into the community. Alphonso Montelli died when young Billy was twelve. When Billy graduated, his mother moved to Las Vegas, where she later died. As I mentioned Bill Montell has used a variety of names. The police records for his various names and activities in six different states reads like War and Peace, long. He had been in Albany only a few days when he met a high school acquaintance. She was to be a bridesmaid at the Plum wedding and needed a date."

"How was she found?"

"We were coming up dry. Suddenly we got a satellite phone burst from Beautiful. It lasted seconds. We had no coordinates, but she was able to tell us "mountains." We had previous information about Billy's friend, whose family had a cabin. We traced the name, found the cabin's location, but when we got there, it had burned down years ago.

"This afternoon, Steph's cell phone came on the opposite side of the mountain, inside a wilderness area. How Beautiful's phone got into the wilderness, we don't know. Maybe Billy was heading to his old friend's cabin, got lost, or didn't know the cabin was gone. Ft. Drum sent an S&R team to the site and found Stephanie and another person. We won't have more information until Beautiful talks to us."

"Why so long for the cell phone?

The initial report from the rescue crew is the phone was up on a tripod on a rocky nob apparently to get the best cell reception. A cell tower had been installed about twenty miles away last fall, but due to the severe winter, over 200 inches of snow, and problems with the equipment, it took six months to get it operational. Also, Beautiful's shelter was in was low in a valley where reception couldn't reach. The phone had to go higher to find the tower."

"How is she?"

"As I said earlier, Tank and the other just got there. Initial reports are she's conscious and talking.


	11. Chapter 11

As the helicopter set down on the hospital landing pad, attendants rushed to the aircraft to offload the two survivors. One woman was conscious and speaking. The second woman was unconscious.

A quick briefing from the Army medics prepared the ER doctors for the two emaciated women, but the hospital staff was still surprised. One was far worse than the other. Patient Plum was hydrated and relatively clean, though her closes were not. She was in moderate pain from previous injuries. Patient "Angel," according to Plum, was also bodily clean in unwashed clothes, severely emaciated, and hypothermic. Additionally, she had a recent severe leg fracture and old facial injuries.

As the medical personnel cut away the multiple clothing layers on the unconscious woman, they were startled to find a laminated name badge: US Air Force Army Major Malika Arkandyevna. A call to Air Force personnel found Major Arkandyeva was missing from the Albany Stratton VA hospital, across the street from the emergency trauma center.

Frank Plum, Tank, and Bobby entered the Emergency Room and checked in at the desk. Detective Amici was waiting for them. "I was here when the helicopters landed, Mr. Plum. Your daughter was awake and talking."

"How is she? What did she say?"

"She didn't have much of a chance to say more than confirm her name before they whisked her away."

Frank sagged a bit and discretely crossed himself. His prayers, along with those of his fellow lodge members, had been answered.

New York state did not recognize Bobby's medical credentials. Out of courtesy to Frank Plum, Bobby would be updated frequently on Ms. Plum's condition, but he had to remain in the waiting area. As the men waited, the emergency room doors opened, and several people in Army ACUs came through and went to the desk. One had a scrub blouse, not a uniform blouse. Bobby recognized the one in the scrub. "Steven Phillips?" Bobby asked.

The man turned, and surprise came to his face. "Bobby Brown! What a surprise, what are you doing here?"

"Army rescue brought in two people from the wilderness. One is a coworker of mine."

Dr. Phillips nodded, "That is why I am here. I can't say more right now. I need to get back there, Bobby. I will talk to you later."

Bobby glanced at the two other gentlemen and noted the MP tabs on their uniforms. Bobby had a thousand questions but couldn't ask any. He recognized the "need to know" signal, and right now, he didn't need to know. Why was the Army interested in Bomber? Who was the other person with Stephanie? Did the Army want Billy? The men sat, drank coffee, and waited. Tank's phone rang. He listened and mumbled a few words then hung up. "Ranger is back. He and Les are on their way."

Shaking his head, Tank muttered, "This is not what he needs so soon after a long mission." Bobby knew he probably had two patients on his hands, now.

After midnight Ranger and Lester entered the Emergency Room finding Frank, Bobby, and Tank with Detective Amici.

"Report," Ranger barked. He didn't even notice Detective Amici standing nearby.

Bobby stood and responded, "I am not licensed in New York, but the staff is giving me updates. Stephanie is conscious and able to speak. The doctors are doing more tests. Her condition is guarded, not critical. When they have a better idea of the full range of her injuries, they'll let us see her."

Ranger needed more information but realized Bobby had given him all he knew.

Detective Amici stepped forward and introduced himself. "You may not remember me. I'm Angelo Amici, Albany detective. We worked together on the Burret cases a couple of years ago."

Ranger nodded, not committing he remember the detective.

"I was at the wedding with Stephanie and was talking with her before the abduction. She saw an FTA and went to call your office. When she did not return from her call, we began searching. I have been part of the team trying to find her. It has been one nightmare after another."

Before Ranger chewed the Detective's head off for not getting more information, Tank took Ranger to a different area in the waiting room. Physically, Ranger appeared exhausted and now had this with which to contend. Tank reiterated what Lester and Detective Amici had said.

Bobby watched from across the room. Ranger was barely holding it together. Tank was the best one to be with him right now. Bobby hoped they wouldn't have to medicate Ranger.

Just before dawn, the nurse called for the family of Stephanie Plum. All stood. The nurse looked at each man. They ranged in size from 5'10" to 6'6". Skin color was from Frank's medium Italian skin tone to Tank's black. Their hair ranged from straight dark blond to bald. The nurse calmly said, "I know Angelo Amici, and I assume you are Miss Plum's father," the nurse said, indicating Frank. Who are these other men?"

Without blinking an eye, Frank said, "My son's. All are adopted. This one is also her doctor." Bobby stepped forward. "Robert Brown, MD, Trenton, New Jersey."

The nurse was not fooled. With a hint of a smile, she said, "Initially, I'll let in her father and ah, doctor brother. The rest of the family and the Detective will have to wait."

As Frank and Bobby entered the bay, the lady doctor looked up from her chart. "Bobby Brown? I haven't seen you in ages. What are you doing here?"

"Sheila Graham! Steph works for a company I'm part owner and staff doctor. This is Frank Plum, Stephanie's father.

Frank had already rushed to Stephanie's side, grasping her head crying, "Pumpkin." They but their heads together and wept.

It took all of Bobby's training not to react to Bomber's physical appearance. She usually carried five extra pounds of feminine curves, but that was now all gone and then some. Her thin face made her eyes much larger. Her hair was a tangled rat's nest bordering on becoming dreads.

Sheila got Bobby's attention, and together they walked into the hall. "Do you have HIPPA clearance?"

Bobby pulled out Steph's medical papers naming Ranger and him her medical proxy.

Nodding, Dr. Graham continued, "It is malnutrition but not starvation. She has had food, but she's not sure what she was eating other than it was vile. Her injuries are nine weeks old, significant but are healing even with the malnutrition and reduced bone density. Injuries include, the doctor looked at her notes, "L4 L5 fractures, no neurological impairment, Ilium fracture, stabilized and healing, Fractured tibia, healing. As for her arm, fractured clavicle, humerus, stabilized, and healing. I'm finding tenderness around the spleen and liver. Blood tests will tell us more. Ms. Plum is very fortunate to have been rescued by a doctor trained in wilderness survival."

"How is he, the doctor?"

Sheila blocked down her face continued, "According to Ms. Plum, someone was trying to kill the doctor. During the escape, the doctor became lost in the mountains. It's all under the Army's control now. There's a news blackout on all information about her, including the name."

Bobby was confused, "Her? Stephanie?"

She smiled, "Doctor She is one tough cookie from what Stephanie has been saying."

Bobby knew a few women Army doctors. He wondered if he knew this one. Dr. Graham excused herself, and Bobby returned to Stephanie. As he bent over her and hugged her gently, he whispered, "Bomber, thank God you are alive. We were at wit's end, trying to find you. I have good news. Ranger is here."

"Wha?!" Her head jerked back and wincing in pain.

Bobby cupped his hand under her chin, "Relax, breathe."

"Yeah, Yeah, that's what Angel wrote on a card, breathe, relax. You military people need new lines."

"Pumpkin, please, breathe. You need to rest. I'll go get Ranger," Frank said.

As Frank left, Stephanie looked up, "How is he?"

"He's just back. Lester picked him up at the airport and brought him here. Normally he is raw after returning and hard to be around. Right now, he's worse than usual," Bobby shook his head, wondering how Ranger was going to hold himself together. "You two need to be careful with each other. I rarely see the fear in his eyes, but when he walked into the hospital, I saw it briefly before he slammed on the granite face. You will be in the hospital for a while. I know you are going to hate the food and want pizza. That's not going to be permitted until you can prove you will follow the doctors' diet regime. Your body won't handle your normal menu. If you balk, you could end up with a feeding tube."

"I'm sure the food won't be as bad as what I have been eating."

Bobby tipped his head as if to ask what.

Stephanie scrunched her face in disgust, "I'm not sure, but ground nuts is probably a euphemism for bugs."

Ranger passed Bobby in the doorway. "Gently, Ranger, she's weak," Bobby admonished. Ranger stepped into the room and paused. The emaciated person could not be his Babe. Her hair is a mess, skin pale, and even the sapphire blue eyes were dull. _Dios mio_, she's been crying.

"Babe," he whispered.

"Carlos, I'm sorry I'm such a mess for your homecoming," she wept.

He stepped up to her and gently placed his hands on either side of her bony face, trying to wipe away the tears. Whispering in Spanish, he told her how beautiful she was and how his heart ached when he learned of her abduction. He was in love with the woman. Spanish was his first language, the language of his heart. Continuing, he knew he stood on the banks of the Rubicon for far too long. It was time to step across the river, but his mind snapped him back. Why had she called him Carlos? Where were the other names; Batman and Ranger? Had their relationship changed? Was she separating herself from him? Who was the soldier who cared for her? How would this affect her in the future? He would remain on the river bank for a while longer.

-0-

Steven Phillips, the Doctor from the VA, found Bobby in the lobby talking with Lester and Tank. The two Rangemen were preparing to return to Trenton. Somebody had to mind the business.

"Bobby, what are you doing these days?" Phillips asked.

"Steven Phillips, this is Lester Santos and Tank Sherman. Steve and I worked together back in Iraq before I met up with you guys. Steven, I'm a Rehab specialist in Trenton. Also part-owner of a security company providing a portal for returning vets."

"Rehab specialist and private security corporate doctor in Trenton? Are you ...Rangeman? The rescued woman works for Rangeman?"

"Yes. Steph was here in Albany for a family wedding when she recognized one of our fugitives. Before she could contact authorities, she disappeared. We and the Albany police have been investigating for weeks. This morning a message came through from a remote location."

"Yeah, Ft. Drum rescue brought both here. I have always been an admirer of Malika's skills, but the fact she kept both of them alive, is beyond comprehension." Dr. Phillips pulled up and shook his head. "I should not have mentioned the doctor's name. There's a blackout, top secret."

Malika? Bobby scowled, trying to remember. Malika was an Air Force doctor, not Army. "Air Force Malika Arkendyevna?"

Phillips was surprised, but before he could say anything, Bobby continued. "Turkmenistan. She was a Ranger rescue. I never expected her to survive."

Dr. Phillips put his hand on Bobby's shoulder, "The same, but her identity is being kept quiet for her safety. Somebody is trying to kill her. She's been missing for four and a half months and still may not make it. If it hadn't been for the rescue team, she would be dead from the fall."

"Fall?" Bobby's mind also shot to her kidnapping in Afghanistan. Does this incident tie back to then?

"Ms. Plum was found alone in the cabin. _Her companion_ was the one who took the cellphone up the mountain. While returning, she fell fracturing her tibia."

Bobby thought back to the briefing in the tent in Kabul, "She doesn't have a family if I remember, other than a Russian stepfather."

"Air Force records show both parents deceased, no other relatives."

"Steve, I don't know how long I'll be here with Stephanie, but I'd like to look in on the other woman. She was one of my first Ranger rescues."

"I'll set it. I've already assigned an alternate identity, Angela Murphy."

Malika was unconscious when Bobby entered Intensive Care. Remembering how skinny she was in Turkmenistan, now she was at least 20 pounds less, probably weighing less than 90 pounds. The skin stretched across her bones. Looking at her injuries, he could see her jaw was offset to the left, her nose smashed, and the facial bones below depressed. Her ear was in two pieces, and a feeding tube snaked through her smashed nose. The fact she didn't have a PEG feeding tube protruded from her abdomen told Bobby how critical she was. The insert surgery might be too much, right now. Add in the tibia fracture, her condition was critical. As bloody and bruised as she had been in Turkmenistan, he remembers thinking she was lovely. Today her facial injuries and severe weight loss made her look macabre. He bent over and gently kissed her forehead, "So we meet again."

Bobby returned to Stephanie's room. Ranger and Frank sat quietly, watching her sleep. Frank turned to Bobby and asked softly, "How is Angel?"

Bobby looked at Frank, confused. "Angel?"

"The other woman. Pumpkin says, her name is Angel."

"Oh, Angela, she's critical. The doctors are trying to stabilize her. She has a long way to go."

Frank got up and walked over to Bobby, "Pumpkin said she saw her face briefly as she washed. The woman couldn't eat because of her jaw."

Nodding Bobby said, "It's fused shut from several fractures."

"Is that why she can't talk?"

"In part," Bobby answered obliquely. "Frank, there's a news blackout on the other woman. I can't tell you more." To redirect the conversation, Bobby asked Frank, "Have you talked to your wife?"

Frank was a former military. He wasn't offended by Bobby shutting down information about his daughter's rescuer. He knew she was a military doctor and somehow ended up in the wilderness. More than that, he might never now. But by Divine Grace, the woman and his daughter met. Instead, he huffed and sat down, "Yeah, I've talked to Helen as best as I could. She hasn't been sober for months. Valerie cared for her when I was in Albany with Les and is with her again. Caring for her mother and her family has been difficult. I know I should be there, but I can't leave Pumpkin. I've been absent mentally for most of her life. I feel I need to be here now."

Bobby quietly added, "Now that Stephanie is safe and will heal, with time, you need to help your wife. She may need professional help."

Frank looked at his daughter and Ranger and then back at Bobby. "I've been talking to the folks at Cherry Hills. My insurance will cover most of the costs for a month. Maybe it would be enough to get Helen turned back around."

"Sounds like a good plan, Frank. Cherry Hills has a good reputation. I'm going to be here awhile caring for Stephanie and Ranger. If you need help, don't hesitate to ask. Can you sit here for a while, I need to talk to Ranger?"

Frank nodded and moved back to sit beside his daughter.

Bobby remembered Frank had come with Tank and he. He had no transportation back to Trenton. "Frank, when you are ready to leave, I'll have the flight ready for you. No rush."

Frank looked up surprised. He, too, forgot how he got to Albany. "Thank you, maybe tomorrow. I thank you again for keeping me informed and bringing me here. Rangeman does not have the reputation from Burg men that the women give you. Well not all. There is that one horse's ass and his sails have been severely trimmed." Frank gave a small smile.

Ranger looked confused. Where was Mrs. Plum? What had he missed?

Bobby saw his confusion and nodded to the door indicating he wanted to speak to Ranger.

"I'll be back in a moment, Frank. Can I get you anything?" Ranger asked as he stood. Leaning over, he kissed Stephanie's forehead just as Bobby had done with Malika moments before.

"I'm fine."

Bobby and Ranger walked into the hall. Bobby began, "First of all, Ranger, you look like hell. When did you last sleep?"

"I can sleep in the chair."

"I'd prefer you horizontal but will accept the recliner chair. You also need to eat. Let's go to the cafeteria."

Ranger just nodded and followed Bobby. Yes, he was exhausted physically from his last mission. This situation wasn't helping. He felt like a "dead man walking." Once they had gone through the line at the hospital cafeteria, filling their plates with breakfast food, they found a secluded table. Ranger dove into his meal; he was ravenous.

Bobby put down his for and indicated he wanted to speak. Ranger nodded. "I have news on the rescuer. She is an Air Force surgeon, but her name, condition, and even being here is being kept confidential, top secret. Angela Murphy is a pseudonym." Hesitating a moment, Bobby lowered his voice and asked, "Do you remember Malika Arkandyevna?"

"Rescue. Turkmenistan?" Ranger asked as he chewed.

"That's her. I never expected her to survive let alone remain in service. She was attacked in the VA hospital across the street, seriously injured, but managed to flee. How she ended up in the wilderness is unknown. Thank God, she was the one with Stephanie. Bomber would not have survived without someone skilled in medicine and survival techniques."

"Does her being in the wilderness have to do with what happened before?"

"We don't know. We may never know. She is not doing well."

"How bad is it? Babe said she her face was disfigured."

"The doctors can't begin to address her injuries until they can her stabilized. She is suffering from exposure, hypothermia, and starvation."

"Is she worse than Babe?"

"Yeah. Bomber was stranded nine weeks, Angela, the doctor, was there almost five months. She suffered a severe tibia fracture just before rescue, knife wounds to the head and hits to the jaw and throat in the initial attack here. The jaw is fused. Fortunately, the throat strike didn't collapse the esophagus. She was able to suck grain gruel through her teeth and swallow, but the laryngeal nerve was damaged. She can't speak."

"Will she ever be able to speak?"

"Hopefully, but it will take time. She's in for multiple surgeries and a long rehab. Steph will be here for a week until she's cleared for travel. I suspect you will stay here. I would like to stay for a while as well to look in on her, you, and Angela."

Ranger was going to argue Bobby need not tend him, but he knew better. Often Ranger needed Bobby's care and the staff psychologist's counsel after returning from missions. "I can accept that, but your job is in Trenton."

"Tank and Les can handle things for a few days. Bones has the clinic."

-0-

The older man stared at his assistant. "An inquiry for your daughter came into the Joint Military personnel office, but the information quickly sealed. Earlier, a news report had the Army rescuing two people stranded in a New York wilderness. One was a New Jersey resident; the other's name is unknown until next of kin are contacted. It may be a coincidence, but the unknown could be your daughter. The timing is right."

"Is she dead?"

"We don't know. All we have is a hit on the name in a data search."

"Keep me informed," the old man said and then dismissed his assistant. Rising from his chair, Babaev went to the window and looked out. He had grown tired of New York's cold and returned to Sochi. The once-forgotten area in far southern Russia against the Black Sea had gained attention for its subtropical climate. The warmer temperatures better suited Arkady's old bones than Moscow. The Black Sea water temperature was bone-chilling now, but by August, the water would be warm enough to flood the beaches and town with vacationers. The more adventuresome would head for the high mountains to the former Winter Olympic village. The still incomplete community was another testimony of how the government was not as efficient as a private enterprise. The incompleted buildings were an embarrassment to the Soviet Union and would never be tourist facilities also promised. More socialist dreams lost to reality. At least the Japanese were smart enough to tear down their Olympic village after their games, returning the area to the wilderness.

Arkady had wisely kept his business dealings within the lower elevation city and not in the doomed vision on the mountain. Thanks to his weapons and drug business, his wealth had allowed him to purchase two leopards from his home country of Turkmenistan for the local mountain park and game preserve. Though he had only viewed them once before their release, he hoped they would grow and prosper in the new area as he had. They would ensure future generations, something he had failed. His only progeny, Malika, had been kidnapped by US Army Rangers in Turkmenistan before she could bear children with her husband Ene. Arkady was still trying to return her to Turkmenistan to continue his heritage. After all, she was nearing 40 years old, the time for grandsons was running out. Arkady Babaev turned back to his desk. He would have to fly to New York to look for his daughter again.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Malika could open both eyes but not focus. It was more comfortable using one eye for now. Nearby sat a man, medium-dark skin. His head was down reading from a tablet. Doctor, maybe a nurse, she thought. She couldn't keep either eye open long, relying on her memory to examine the man after each peek. His appearance was familiar.

Malika peeked again.

Without looking up, the man said, "Do you want me to lower the light level so you can keep your eyes open?" He slowly raised his head and looked at her.

Maybe it was the bright light coming through the window that was making focusing difficult. After the man reduced the light in the room, she found she could keep both eyes open. Yep, she knew him, but from where? He was a tall, African American or dark Caribbean, very fit, and wore his hair cut short.

"Do you want to room darker?" he asked.

She used her right forefinger in a sideways motion indicating no.

He watched the action. "I'm assuming that is no. How do you indicate, yes?"

Her finger moved up and down.

Returning to his chair, he smiled, "Good, now we can communicate. You are in Albany Trauma, across the street from Stratton VA. Rescue came from Fort Drum. Due to your injuries and condition, you will remain here through surgeries but eventually move across the street to the VA."

Malika twirled her finger around in a circle.

"We haven't covered that sign yet."

With still shaky hands, Malika slowly spelled out S-T-E-F. She hoped he could sign.

"Stephanie?" the man asked.

A finger flip upwards indicated yes. Thankfully he could sign.

"She is well. Tests show previous liver damage, but the numbers are improving. The fractures are healing, even though her bone density is a bit low. Our concern is the lumbar fracture. She may need surgery to further stabilize the spine, but we won't know until she can walk around more.

"Walking?" Malika signed.

The big man smiled, "She can walk twenty paces with a walker. Each day we encourage her to add another step. She is motivated to walk again."

Malika stuck her thumb up, good. The reference to "our" and "we" made Malika's assessment correct. This was a doctor. Did they meet at a conference?

"She also told us what a wonderful cook you are," he said with a small smile.

Malika's finger went side to side. Then looking at the tablet in doctor's hand, she put her thumb over three fingers, palm up indicating the "give to me" sign.

"Do you want to type on the tablet?"

Her finger flicked up.

Clearing the screen, he moved closer to the bed and held the table allowing Malika to type.

Malkia struggled to raise her hand. She felt like a blob. At least there was no pain in the movement. She couldn't wait to get out of bed, like Stephanie, and get moving. The pain in her leg reminded her, she had other things to tend first. Finally, raising her hand high enough, she typed, "who u."

The doctor looked contrite. "Forgive me. I'm Dr. Robert Brown from Trenton. Stephanie Plum and I work together."

Trenton? This isn't a VA doctor. Brown was the last name of the medic at the security company Stephanie worked for. Malika typed "rangeman."

"Yes, apparently you and Stephanie have been communicating."

"bobby."

"Yes, I prefer Bobby to the formal Dr. Robert Brown."

She looked at Bobby carefully and then typed, "have we met?"

Bobby nodded yes, "Turkmenistan. I was the Ranger medic."

Malika's head rocked back slightly, and her eyes shut tight. Turkmenistan was a nightmare she wished to forget. Without realizing it, she reached out to hold Bobby's hand, the way he held hers on the march away from the village to the ex-filtrate spot. He was the one person who gave her hope, comfort, and the will to hang on. Here he was again. Opening her eyes and releasing his grip, she typed, "azreal."

Bobby watched the dread wash over her face. The kidnapping and torture were still raw in her. Reading what she typed, he shook his head no. "I was not Azreal, the archangel of death. You mistook me for Raphael, the healer. While Azreal wasn't needed, the warrior was. He is here with me now."

"mikhail," she typed.

Bobby was surprised. "I'm surprised you remember that night."

She nodded, yes. Somehow, through the trauma, she remembered much of that night and, of course, the beatings and torture the months prior. She still had nightmares.

Bobby took the hand she typed with and quietly said, "Michael or Mikhail, as you call him, is Ranger Manoso. Maybe Stephanie mentioned him."

Malika's eyes opened wide, and her eyebrows rose. Yes, of course, Stephanie had mentioned Ranger. Was he here as well?

Malika looked off, then shut her eyes again, holding back a tear. Life's circles were interacting once again: Arkady, Turkmenistan, the Rangers, Albany, and Stephanie. Bobby gave her time to regroup before continuing, "The Army assumes your disappearance had something to do with Turkmenistan years ago."

Malika nodded affirmatively. She began looking around frantically. Was she safe here?

Bobby read the fear. "You have guards outside the door dressed as hospital staff. Also, you are listed under an alias. Bomber, er, Stephanie called you Angel, so you are stuck with the name Angela Murphy. Congratulations, you are now Irish." Waiting for a reaction that did not come, he continued, "I like the name Malika and will always think of you as such, but to maintain your privacy, I will use Angela."

This time she nodded again and reached out to hold Bobby's hand again. She was in physical pain as well as emotion, thinking about Arkady. The feeding tube down her throat wasn't helping her comfort. But Dr. Brown's, no, Bobby's hand was comforting. Since she could not talk, she would try to communicate her appreciation to him through eye contact. However, she was exhausted. Before slipping away to sleep, she squeezed his hand.

-0-

Malika hated to be confined, her leg in traction. But her doctors refused to do surgery until her vitals improved, and she began regaining weight. Still very conscious about her appearance, she kept a white scarf wrapped about her head and face as she had with Stephanie. Fortunately, she was in a private room. She didn't need to contend with a roommate or their family. Perhaps it also had to do with her security. But whenever Bobby came to visit, he loosened the scarf, "Your injuries don't bother me. Please don't hide from me." It was something she had said to her patients, now she was on the other side. She didn't know if Bobby was being professional or if the feelings were more personal.

The days grew longer, not only in sunlight hours but also boredom. Never a television fan, she used the device to play music. Always an avid reader, she devoured books. During the night, the noise from the halls kept her awake. Since earplugs would not fit in her bisected ear, Bobby bought earmuffs. After adjusting them over her head, he stood back and mimicked a ramp agent directing an aircraft on an airport tarmac. Malika couldn't laugh, but her eyes could, and she used her thumbs to show her approval. Bobby's frequent visits made confinement tolerable, barely.

Beethoven's piano concerto #7 played through the television's music station as she mimicked playing the piano with her fingers. Her eyes were shut but sensed somebody was moving towards her. Feeling someone touch her arm, she opened her eyes to see Stephanie and a Latino man standing behind Stephanie's wheelchair. She knew immediately this was Ranger. Stephanie had gone on about his physical attributes.

"If you hadn't been wiggling your fingers, I would have thought you were asleep," Stephanie said.

Malika mimicked playing along with her fingers.

"Do you play the piano?" Stephanie asked.

Malika flicked her finger up, yes, while nodding yes. There was no way to tell Stephanie her mother had been a concert pianist. Malika played well but was not her mother's equal.

"Angel, I mean...Angela, I'd like to introduce Ranger. I told you about him."

Malika signed his name, C-A-R-L-O-S M-A-N-O-S-O.

Stephanie shook her head, "I think you signed his name, right?"

Ranger cut in, "She did, Babe."

Surprise crossed Stephanie's face. "Ranger, do you sign?"

"You know I'm a man of many talents," he smiled as he kissed her temple. "Most of the men at Rangeman sign. It is almost as important as speaking Spanish."

"Tank didn't tell me that when I joined the team," she huffed. It was bad enough exercising, working on her weapons handling, as well as takedown procedures. When were they going to teach her to sign as well as speak Spanish? "At least Angela has been teaching me."

"I'm sure you'll get better, Babe."

Turning back to Malika, "I've come to thank you again for saving my life," Stephanie said as she reached forward with her undamaged arm and rested her hand on Malika. The two of them had formed a bond, not only forced by necessity, but also respect. Stephanie had begun to understand she needed to direct her drive internally, facing her problems not through emotion, but through thought and planning. Malika knew her new friend wasn't entirely "cooked" into her new life, but she was on her way. She hoped this time she would let Ranger, Bobby, and the other people at Rangeman, as well as her father, finish the process.

Malika patted Steph's hand in acknowledgment then raised hers to begin signing to Ranger. Knowing he could sign, Malika was faster with her hands. Her first words were "Translate for Stef." Then she began signing more rapidly.

Ranger watched the hand signs. "She says you were good company," Ranger translated.

Malika continued. "Sorry about your hair, but there was no comb. This new style is cute."

Stephanie almost eye-rolled, "Your finger combing wasn't enough. The tangles were more like dreads. Now I look like a Brillo pad."

Malika tipped her head and held up her thumb and forefinger close together as if to say, "A little bit."

Stephanie knew she would give Little Orphan Annie a run in a few weeks as the hair grew out. "I've come to say goodbye. We are returning to Trenton. Bobby will be working on my rehab with me."

Malika gave a thumbs up and then signed, "Do not argue with him. He wants the best for you."

Stephanie chuckled, "I gave you a hard time, I'm sorry. When you recover, please come to Trenton. I promised to take you to Pino's for real food. Perhaps a meatball sandwich. I honor my commitment. I promise no ground nuts."

Malika winced at the thought of overturning rocks and digging rotten trees looking for larvae or insect egg cases. She couldn't stand them either, which was one reason she gave Stephanie the majority.

"I'm still having trouble not being able to hug, so if you don't mind, I'll let Ranger hug you for me."

Malika wiggled her eyebrows in anticipation as a way to pull Stephanie's "tail."

"Darn, am I the only one who can't do that?" Stephanie huffed.

Ranger leaned over carefully and hugged her and whispered, "Thank you for saving the woman I love."

When he pulled back, Malika signed, "Tell her, not me."

Ranger smiled, and his whole face lit up. Stephanie was right. He did have a beautiful smile. Malika noted Ranger rarely stopped touching Stephanie. Either that was a sign of dominance or did he indeed have feelings for her. She hoped it was later.

Malika looked and signed, "Thank you, warrior and angel, Mikhail."

Bobby told Ranger how Malika initially thought her Turkmenistan rescuers were the two of the seven archangels: Mikhail and Azrael. "No ma'am, just an Army Ranger doing my job."

Stephanie didn't understand the fast interaction but didn't say anything. She could ask Ranger during the trip home. Bidding goodbye, they left with Ranger pushing Stephanie's wheelchair.

Bobby stepped in after Stephanie and Ranger left. "I'm going back with Bomber and Ranger."

Malika looked confused. Who was Bomber?

"Oh, Bomber is my nickname for Stephanie. I'll explain sometime. I'm not abandoning you. If I can get away, I'll be here for your surgeries."

Malika tipped her head and signed "Thank-you."

Reaching into a bag, he brought with him, "I've brought you gifts."

Malika smiled and signed, "Not my birthday."

"No, I'm a few months early." First, he brought out a bed jacket. "The open back gowns can be a hassle. This will retain your modesty and keep you warm when necessary."

She was looking it over when she noted an unusually large pocket. Looking up at Bobby, she had a questioning look.

"That's for this," he said as he pulled out an iPad. "I debated between a phone and a tablet. When you are recovering from your surgeries, having a larger format will be easier. There is a separate keyboard. That's why the pocket is large in your jacket. We can chat back and forth when I'm away with the text or email, and when I'm here, we can verbally chat. There's a voice icon..." He quickly tapped, and the tablet spoke, "Hello, Angela."

She broke out in a crooked smile. Malka took the tablet and tapped furiously. Not using the voice icon, Bobby had to read, "I'm overwhelmed. Thank you, Bobby. Again, you have pulled me back from death." Tap, Tap, Tap, "Making friends is difficult. You are my first, true friend with whom I can open my heart. Thank you."

Bobby looked a bit embarrassed. "While I'm not a cardiologist, I've come to hope to know more of your heart."

Malkia smiled. "Me too," she signed.

"Would you think me overt if I gave you a kiss before I left?"

Her eyes sparkled as she pointed to her forehead and signed, "Undamaged."

He leaned over and kissed her lips instead though they were somewhat off-center. At first, she was offended until he whispered, "It doesn't bother me." Then reaching into his pocket, he brought out two tubes of lip balm. "This will be easier than trying to moisten your lips from your gums."

She nodded and signed, "Perfect, thank you."

"One last thing, you have the nurse call button on your bed, but you can't contact the guards near your door or on the floor. I'm putting a new wrist ID on your arm with an embedded emergency button. Press it when you feel you are in danger. It summons the hall guards and building security. I wish I could stay with you, but I am needed in Trenton."

Malika looked at the new wrist band. There was only the smallest bulge. While her mind wasn't at ease, at least others were worried about her security. She looked up at Bobby and smiled her crooked smile.

Kissing her forehead, he said, "See ya around, kid."

-0-

Bobby, Ranger, and Stephanie flew in the Rangeman corporate jet. The half-day drive would have been too painful for her back. Bobby sat away from them working, trying to put his mind back in Rangeman mode though a part of him remained in Albany. Thankfully he could stay in touch electronically. The pull he felt years ago in Turkmenistan was in full bloom again.

The same pull that tugged Bobby's heart at the first meeting with the Air Force doctor was the same Stephanie and Ranger had felt in the cafe years ago. Usually, she would be draped over Ranger, but her back and should injuries forced her to remain aligned. Now they could only hold hands. "Angela tried to teach me to sign. I'm not good, but I did catch something about 'warrior' when she signed to you."

"Babe, years ago, Bobby, Tank, and I were on a rescue mission to one of the 'stans. Mal...Angela was our objective."

"Who?" Stephanie caught Ranger's slip.

Ranger realized he had almost Malika's real name slip. "Since her abductors could still be active, her real name is being kept quiet. You calling her Angel sounded like a good idea so, her pseudo-name is Angela.

"You needed to rescue her in a 'stan, and she was running from someone here? How does a person go from one disaster to another?"

Ranger started to chuckle, "Look who's talking."

"None of mine took a military intervention."

"Think again, Babe," he said as he continued to chuckle.

"Ranger, it's not like they took calling out the helicopters or tanks…I mean…"

Ranger was now laughing out loud. It was the first time since going on this last mission, he was able to laugh. It was cathartic. What this woman did for him was beyond belief. Why had he kept pushing her away when she was his salve to heal the wounds? "It's OK Babe, I know what you mean."

Stephanie returned to her question, "Back in the mountains, she indicated someone was trying to kill her. Do you know more?"

"She was attacked in the VA across the street. How she ended up in the wilderness, I don't know. Maybe she told Bobby."

"Will she speak again?"

"Bobby said it could take several more months."

-0-

Once back in Trenton, her apartment was off-limits since Grandma Mazur now lived there. Rangeman had continued paying the rent while Stephanie was missing. Now she would be unable to physically care for herself. The apartment was ideal for her grandmother. The Plum home was also unusable with the long, narrow stairs. Stephanie asked not to go the Haywood immediately. She wanted to go to her family home to visit.

"Babe, you know your mother is in the alcoholic treatment center."

"I know. I was probably the one who drove my mother to drink," she said as tears leaked from her eyes. Stephanie's mood swings were erratic. Ranger hoped she wasn't slipping back to where she was when he left months ago.

"Stop now," Ranger commanded. "Nobody makes another person drink. Each person decides to take the first drink or use the first drug, and then the second, third until they are addicted. Each of us is responsible for our actions."

In her mind, Stephanie understood what Ranger was saying. Malika had told her the same. But the Burg life was ingrained in her, mothers are always right, and daughters must obey. Though nearly coded on her DNA, she had been fighting the teaching all her life. The conflict had prevented her from moving forward towards maturity.

Once in front of the yellow and brown home, Ranger carefully lifted Stephanie from the car into the wheelchair. She usually enjoyed being in his arms, but now it brought pain. She endured with a stoic face, though Ranger could feel her clench. Frank came out the front door and helped Ranger lift the wheelchair onto the porch and into the house.

"This is embarrassing," Stephanie mumbled. She figured all the neighbors watched, and the grapevine was quivering with paralyzed Stephanie Plum stories.

"Hopefully, for a short time, Pumpkin," Frank said and reached over and kissed her new fluffy hair. "They will have to eat their words the first time they see you dancing up the stairs."

Stephanie looked around the clean, but a quiet house. Her mother kept an immaculate home, the grandchildren and Edna kept the house in turmoil. "Are you here alone, Daddy?"

"Isn't it great?! Normally I have to go to the garage for peace. It doesn't last long, though. Valerie is likely to drop in at any moment. I didn't tell her you were coming as I wanted time alone with you."

"Daddy, how is Mom doing?"

Frank sat on a side chair, not his recliner so he could face his daughter. "She's coping, working through the denial and embarrassment, but I don't believe her. There are a lot of Burg years to break down first."

"Can they help her in four weeks?"

"Not completely. Helen will have to continue counseling when she gets out and attend AA meetings almost daily. I'm getting counseling as well admitting I closed my eyes to what was happening, believing the house was her realm. Now I worry about Valerie. I'm trying to get her and Albert to come to Al-Anon meetings with me, but they are resisting. Burg pride won't let them admit there is an alcoholic in the family."

"Daddy, when I can get around again, I'd like to come to the meetings with you."

"Pumpkin, thank you. Maybe together, we can get Valerie and Albert to attend. She's busy with the girls and thinks she has to tend to me as well."

"How are you doing?"

"I'm fine. I've cut back eating at Valerie's to one night a week. She insisted she needed to care for me. So I go to the lodge several other nights a week. In between, I'm getting my own meals."

Stephanie moaned..." Oh, I miss the lodge's mac and cheese..."

Ranger stepped in, "We'd like to have you come to dinner with us, Frank. How about two or three times a week?" Ranger was seeing hints of the independent soldierFrank once was and wanted to help him back.

Frank rocked back, "I'd like that, thank you. It will be quieter than Valerie's."

"I think you'll find Ella is a wonderful good, but she does insist on cooking vegetables," Stephanie smirked.

"Pumpkin, I like vegetables, but not boiled to mush the way your mother serves them. I've been trying to make roasted vegetables using my mother's recipe. I've had a few failures, but I think I've got it now. I'm watching cooking shows. Don't you dare tell anyone."

After helping Stephanie back into the car, Ranger shut her door. Frank followed Ranger around the back of the vehicle, "Pardon my asking, Ranger, but have you had the heart to heart talk?"

"Frank, I will. I'm still a bit shaken by this whole experience. I came back from a rough mission to this. I, we, both need to be stronger before we fjord that river." Ranger wondered when Stephanie would be able to fjord the river. She was delicate right now.

Frank nodded, remembering his own decompression experiences. "Work together to cross that river."

"We are Frank," Ranger said as he extended his hand to shake his future father-in-law's hand.

Stephanie's homecoming at Haywood was brief. She resisted rolling onto the Command Floor in her wheelchair, but Ranger reminded her, "Babe, if you are on your feet, they will hand you from man to man, squeezing you tightly."

"I don't want to be seen as disabled around them."

"You aren't. You are recovering from multiple fractures, including a back injury. The keyword is recovering. Anyway, Bobby would shoot both of us if you are set back during this homecoming."

Her concerns were unfounded. As soon as Ranger turned off the engine on the Cayenne and unlocked the doors, Lester and Hector were at Stephanie's door, ready to lift her out. Ram was taking the wheelchair out of the back.

"Welcome home, Beautiful," said an emotionally Lester as he kissed her cheek.

"Angelita," was all Hector could say as his voice caught in his throat. Several real tears escaped his eyes.

Stephanie momentarily froze. There were too many angels floating around recently; the two Amici's, Angela, and now one of Hector's nicknames.

For a moment, Ranger was pissed. He wasn't the one lifting her from the car. Watching his stoic men breaking down, he knew his men needed assurance she was alive and recovering.

The elevator stopped on the fifth floor. When the doors opened, a line of muscled men waited to hug and kiss their comrade. Each knew instinctively not to lift her from the chair. They each carefully and gently embraced her and kissed her cheek or forehead.

"Back to work," Tank growled. As the men scurried back to their jobs, Tank came over, went to his knees, and took her face in his hands. "Welcome home, Little Girl," he said with more emotion than he wanted to show.

Stephanie reached forward and cupped his cheek, "Thank you, Tank. That bastard came up from behind as I was talking to you. I never had a chance to escape. I know you tried to move heaven and earth, trying to find me."

The pain in Tank's eyes showed she was correct. Failure was not part of his makeup, but he had failed to find Stephanie promptly.

Ranger watched the intimate greeting between the two and wondered if she and Tank had developed more of a relationship while he was gone. Mat time with Tank may be necessary.

"How are you doing, Babe?" Ranger asked as they rolled back into the elevator.

"Tired. I've been lying around in the hospital. You would think I'd be rested."

"No, your body is weak. You must rebuild your stamina as well as your muscles."

"I'm not running at 5 a.m."

Chuckling, Ranger said, "Seven a.m. would be fine after the brace comes off."

Ella had the dinner table set with flowers and a note explaining the casserole was in the warmer, salad in the fridge, and the dessert was in the refrigerator.

"Do you want to eat now, Babe, or take a nap?" Ranger asked as he enveloped her in a careful hug.

"Small meal now, I can come back for seconds later."

Ranger started the meal serving Stephanie a small salad, "Pretend we are at a fancy restaurant. Salad first."

Usually, she'd scrunch her nose at the offering, but oatmeal and wheat flour gruel mixed with dried larvae made her more appreciative of nutritious food. Her weight still wasn't back to where it should be, but the doctors stressed the extra pounds could not be from doughnuts. "Ms. Plum, your system has had major trauma. You need to avoid alcohol and sugars and cut back on your carbs and fats. Your days of pastries and pizza will have to be severely limited."

The casserole was lasagna. Stephanie was so excited she ignored the green stuff and concentrated on the overall flavor. It was a vegetable lasagna made with zucchini strips, spinach, and enough meat to keep Stephanie happy. "You still have room for dessert, Babe?"

"What is it?"

"Flan. I guess Ella was trying to please both of us."

A big smile came to Stephanie's face, "Just a bite or two. I'm full. It will be a great midnight snack and breakfast."

"As well as the lasagna?"

"Yes, sir. The only thing missing would be bacon."

Ranger shook his head and chuckled, "I'll let Ella know your breakfast is covered except for the two slices of bacon."

"Two?"

"Remember the doctor's orders."

"Carlos, I'm surprised eating has given me energy. Instead of going to bed or watching television, can we walk a bit? My back feels better when I walk."

"I'm sure the gym is empty right now, or it can be made to be."

Stephanie scrunched up her nose. She still had a dislike of everything gym though she had spent a few hours in the therapy center at the hospital. "No, I'd like to walk in the garage."

"Babe, it smells like cars down there."

"No, it smells like fresh New Jersey air. If it hadn't been for the smoke from the stove, my lungs would have rebelled to the pure mountain air."

"We'll take the walker and chair, that way you can sit and rest."

Lester glanced at the monitors and saw the couple heading for the back door with the wheelchair and walker and feared something was wrong. He hurried down to find out, "Is there a problem?"

"Les, I've been isolated in a mountain hut and cooped up in a hospital. I need to be outside, hearing the sounds, smelling the fumes, breathing in the smog. I'm a Jersey girl."

He smiled, pumped his arm, and retreated into the building.

Stephanie stood up and grabbed the walker. She began a slow walk as the back, and leg braces were awkward and painful to her back. The doctors said she needed them for awhile while the bones continued to mend and the soft tissues grew stronger. "I want to come back to work."

Ranger rubbed his face in exasperation, "Babe, it is too soon."

"I know Bobby has a rehab program for me, but I need to be doing something else. I've been confined for weeks. My mind needs to work. Maybe I can do searches for an hour or two in your apartment or down at my cubicle. Otherwise, I'll be watching more television. My mind is turning to mush."

"No Ghostbusters in the hospital?"

She shook her head, no. "I've seen more soap operas, telenovelas, and CNN than I ever want to see again in my life. The news reminded me of the book 1984 and how Big Brother was watching and trying to program people's minds. All you get is their opinion. Nobody says anything different. I'm tired of one-sided views and told how I should think. They reminded me of life in the Burg."

"Babe, if Bobby says you can work an hour or two a day, I know the men pleased to see you again. I ask one thing, between the kidnapping, confinement, and breaking off with Joe, I'd like to have you talk with a therapist every day. I need it as well."

She began to panic. Does Ranger think I'm nuts? Will he push me away once I'm healed? No, settle down, he's trying to help. After all, wasn't she seeing a therapist before this whole catastrophe? Maybe it will be the same person.

Ranger read her mind. "No, Babe, I want you completely healed, physically, and mentally. The men have told me you were separating yourself from the Burg. I won't want what happened to throw you back. The Burg and Joe beat you down. Tank saw you needed help and started you with Kindrick. I've talked to him, and he wants to work with your daily for a while. You may not have the strength, at first, to return to work. We, I, need to have you well again, physically and emotionally. You are an extraordinary part of the team and VIP in my personal team."

She looked up with her tear flooded eyes, "Yes, I need to continue moving forward. I've been in the quagmire for too long. I accepted therapy before and need to continue it. Angela could only do so much."

"Someday, will you tell me what the two of you talked about?"

"I talked, she listened. When I'd go off track, she'd pull me back with a scowl, head shake, or floor slap. Sometimes she reminded me of you."

"I don't slap the floor."

"No, but you work out your frustrations by slapping guys down to the mats. I watched her deal with unimaginable hardships. Only once did she break down. I cried so often she warned me she couldn't wash the snot out of the handkerchiefs fast enough. I know I survived because of her."

"Babe, you are tough."

She almost rolled her eyes. "She had the training and the skills, the mental toughness, and she knew what to do to keep us alive. I know it sounds like what you've been telling me for years, but I saw her use her head and training to keep us alive. If she weren't injured and starving, she would have snowshoed out of there, dragging me on a homemade sled just like you would have done."

"Babe," Ranger said quietly, cupping her cheek with his hand.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

The doctors could not wait any longer to repair Malika's tibial fracture. With the muscle atrophy, the already complicated surgery would be difficult. The doctors were cautious, taking multiple bone scans to determine if the starvation had significantly weakened the bone integrity. Malika's Slavic heritage came through. Her bones were strong enough for surgery. While she was not eating fresh greens in her Adirondacks experience, she did have regular exercise.

Though her bones were firm enough, the anesthesia was troublesome. Her reduced metabolism did not tolerate the drugs, and her heart began beating erratically. Instead of post-surgery recovery or even the ICU, she ended up in Cardiac ICU.

Bobby sat carefully watching the monitors. He willed each breath to be deeper, the heart rate stronger. He only slightly acknowledged the nurse coming into the bay, "Dr. Brown, you need to sleep."

"Not until her vitals even out and she wakens," he answered. He had lost patients on the battlefield, on the streets, and in medical centers. Some were close friends, but watching Malika struggle was the hardest test yet.

Gradually her respiration rate and depth changed. Her heart rate steadied. Several hours later, her hand twitched. She was waking up. Bobby began speaking quietly, "Malika, I'm here. It's time to wake up. Open those beautiful eyes, dear." Dear? From where did that come? "Doctor Malika, it's time. Wake up."

Calling her doctor seemed to jar her. She slowly opened her eyes. He knew she wasn't focusing, so he continued talking slowly.

Confused, she waved her hand a few times until her hand found his. As had initially occurred in Turkmenistan, the hands joining together brought her comfort. She relaxed into the state slightly above sleep. He assumed she could hear him, so he continued talking to her. Eventually, he felt her squeeze his hand. At this point, he allowed himself to dose while remaining in the chair.

After a while, he was startled away with a firmer hand squeeze. Her eyes were open, looking at him. "You are one tough lady. That was an orthopedic marathon. Plus, your body didn't like the anesthesia. My job is to keep you awake until you metabolize the anesthesia. I know you'll need the pain pump, but I'm going to keep pestering you to keep you from going down too deep again."

Malika flicked her middle finger at him.

Bobby laughed. "Glad to see your sense of humor is awake."

For the next several hours, Bobby jiggled and ticked her as she kept nodding off. He talked mostly about his life and work with Rangeman. Knowing she wasn't wholly following him, he admired her determination. Finally said, "I'd better let you nap now or else the doctors will kick me out." He bent over and kissed her forehead, "Sweet dreams."

Nearly asleep, she was still able to flick her finger, her index finger, up. "Yes."

She awoke alone, did she dream or hallucinate Bobby was with her? Before she could convince herself his presence was only a dream, he walked into her room. "Good, you are awake. I was getting worried."

He came over and kissed her lips. Shaking his head, he pulled out a lip balm tube, "If I'm going to keep kissing you, we have to smooth up the surface." He then took the glass of water and put the straw to her lips. "You should be able to manage small sips."

She gave him a furrowed brow. Not being able to talk meant she would have to use facial expressions.

"Yes, I know you know the procedure, but humor me. We doctors are lousy patients."

Malika looked contrite though she wanted to laugh.

-0-

Once back in her room from CICU, Malika carefully examined her newly repaired leg. As a girl, her toys ran to the feminine selections, but she wanted boy toys. She finally had an Erector set, and an external fixation system with rods running through her foot and into her upper tibia completely bolted together with stabilizing rods. On the downside, it meant her mobility was still severely restricted. The need to get out of the bed became primal. Never again would she coddle patients in their complaints. Fortunately, Bobby's regular emails always included words of encouragement as well as funny stories from his life with the Rangers or at Rangeman. Every so often, he added information on her former companion, Stephanie. Her medical issues were improving, but she was having trouble with confinement. Malika silently chuckled, "Who wasn't?"

Three weeks later, she was allowed into a wheelchair. She felt reborn. With the leg sticking out the front, she began rolling laps up and down the hospital corridors. The bed jack Bobby gave her kept her top half modest. A blanket kept her bottom half covered. On Bobby's next visit, he brought several scrub sets for her to wear, removing one plant leg to accommodate the leg hardware. She didn't complain. Her skinny ass was no longer in danger of being exposed. The scarf remained over her face so as not to frighten people on the floor.

"I have some bad news," Bobby began, as he adjusted the bed jacket. "While you were away, your apartment building in Albany caught fire.

Everything in your unit was lost. Do you have a storage locker someplace?"

Malika shook her head no. She was never a collector of stuff. Her possessions were what she regularly used, nothing more. She tried to remember what was inside. After all, it had been months since she was there. The only things she'd miss were pictures of her mother and father, Ivan, but she had copies on the Cloud. Perhaps losing the apartment was a gift, hampering Arkady's search for her.

-0-

Malika stared at the surgeon as if he was speaking a foreign language. "Major, your jaw and facial reconstruction have been transferred to the VA." How did this civilian doctor know her military rank? Her facial surgeon did not have the credentials to work in military hospitals. Was the military bringing in a plastic surgeon? Who was the facial orthopedic surgeon? Why aren't they examining her? What was going on? Before she tipped her hand, showing her panic, Malika typed on the tablet, "When?"

"We'll move you tonight. Surgery is 9 a.m. tomorrow, Malika," the doctor said.

While she nodded, her mind was screaming no, no, no. Something was wrong. Why did the doctor call her Malika? There were too many inconsistencies. Was this so-called surgeon an advance scout for Arkady? Being unable to run and hide again, Malika would have to contact Bobby.

Waiting until the doctor left, she immediately began tapping on her tablet, "EMERGENCY! Civilian called me major, moving me to VA 0900 for surgery. Cover blown! Arkady found me. Can't escape." Glancing at the clock on the tablet, she had 6 hours for Bobby to come up with a plan, if he could.

It had been an exhausting day. Bobby leaned back in his office chair, staring at the ceiling. Any more new employees and Rangeman would need a second medic.

At 0430, Ranger was sparring with Bink. Ranger's foot sent Bink flying onto his side, dislocating his shoulder. Soon after Bobby reset the joint, a large box truck carrying hazardous materials skidded across the road, wiping out two vehicles, one of which was a Rangeman SUV with Eric and Manny inside. Both men were not seriously injured, but the highway closed due to toxic chemical dispersion into the air. At the hospital, both men went through decontamination before treatment could begin.

Eric suffered a broken humerus, while Manny caught the car dashboard with his knee, fracturing the patella. Both suffered upper respiratory distress from the chemicals in addition to significant bruises. Three employees were down with food poisoning from a deli near downtown. The final insult was an attempted armed robbery at a jewelry store by smash and grab. A pickup truck plowed into the store, trying to break the display cases so robbers could make off with the jewelry. In the mayhem that followed, Hector received a significant slash from broken glass that required twenty-five stitches.

Bobby was trying to remember eating breakfast, let alone lunch or dinner.

He made his way to the Break Room, hoping Ella had left emergency rations. As we walked up the stairs, he was scrolling through his phone messages. "Holy Shit," Bobby muttered. He bypassed the Break Room and went straight to Ranger's office.

"Problem Brown?" Ranger asked.

"Malika, er, Angela's cover may have been blown. An unknown civilian, not VA, doctor arrived, called her major and Malika, and said she would be moved tonight to the VA tomorrow for her facial surgery. Her surgeon, Dr. Flick, does not have VA credentials."

Ranger grabbed his phone and called Detective Amici in Albany, explaining the situation. "Detective, can you verify your men are the ones guarding her."

"Ranger, I will do so now. The shift changes at 10 pm. If there will be a kidnapping, it will occur then. I'm on my way now."

Bobby glanced at the time, 1900. There was no way they could reach Albany before 2230. Ranger was thinking the same, "Call Bob, we are leaving as soon as possible. Contact Angela, tell us Detective Amici is on his way, we will be there as soon as possible. I'll see about alternative hospitals. She can't stay there."

Malika sighed. Bobby finally read his messages. She hoped he could get to her in time. Would they drug her in her nightly feeding? Fortunately, over the weeks, she had requested her night feeding be her food be delayed to help her sleep, but the hour was fast approaching. What delaying tactics could she devise? She had time to formulate just one scenario when a nurse she had never seen before came into the room. "Time for your feeding."

Malika nodded but indicated she wanted to use the bathroom first.

Dealing with her Erector-set leg would require time to get into the wheelchair, roll to the bathroom, and shut the door.

"Let me help you," the nurse offered.

Shaking her head no and flexing her arm as if it say, "I'm strong," Malika had won that little battle. Once she was in her wheelchair, she indicated she could tend to herself in the bathroom. Locking the door was useless. The nurses could easily open the door in case of problems, but she did so anyway. Every second delay would be helpful. Slowly backing her wheelchair to the door with one wheel as close to the door as possible, she set the chair's brakes. If the nurse attempted to push in, the chair would be pushed against the wheels, not with them. Now Malika waited, quietly.

After hearing nothing for a few minutes, the nurse began, "Malika, are you alright? Major, do you need help? You've been in there a while. Malika, say something." Asking Malika a question and expecting a verbal answer indicated the nurse didn't know she was mute.

How long before the nurse will start pushing the door? Will she get others to join her? It was time to press the panic button in her wrist ID. If she was taken, hopefully, the band could be tracked.

"Malika, open this door!" the nurse called out. The nurse jiggled the handle and pounded on the door. New voices arrived—hopefully, someone to question what was happening. Instead, somebody began trying to force open the door. the door unlocked. More people were speaking and pushing against the door. Were the security people also Arkady agents?

Malika wished she weighed 300 pounds. All she could do was lower her center of gravity by bending over. Slowly the door began to open as the chair moved sideways. A sudden push toppled the chair. To keep the door from opening, Malkia partially rolled and used her uninjured leg over the chair's armrest to close the door, catching someone's hand in the frame.

_"Suka" _(b****) the person attached to the smashed hand uttered in Russian.

Twisting like a pretzel was painful, but she was not taking her foot off the door. Suddenly she heard, "Police, hands up!" Were these Detective Amici and the Albany police? Though her body and Erector-leg were screaming in pain, she held the door shut. Her mind flashed back to her father, Ivan, teaching her how to breathe to relax her body and lessen pain. "Thank you, Ivan," she quietly prayed.

The knock was soft, "Angela, I'm Angelo Amici. Albany detective. Ranger Manoso sent me. I'm going to open the door slowly." Pulling her leg off the door gave the police detective enough room to open the door about twelve inches. Inching his head in, he could only see her extended Erector-leg on the floor and a portion of the overturned wheelchair.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, forgetting she couldn't speak.

Malika leaned as far forward as much she could. Hopefully, the detective would see her hand fluttering indicating "maybe."

"I think with several big guys, we can push the door open. Do what you can to protect yourself."

Yeah, right. Malika hoped the floor was well waxed. She didn't need floor burns. Once the door opened several more inches, a slender nurse and orderly were able to squeeze through and pull Malika and the chair back enough, allowing the door to open further. Suddenly the bathroom was filled with people. Her skinny ass was on display for all, but she didn't care. The nurse aided by a doctor carefully realigned Malike flat on her back.

"Do you want something for the pain?" the staff doctor asked after seeing her wince.

Still fearing poisoning or drugging, she shook her head no and endured the discomfort of being transferred back into her bed. She was exhausted.

Once settled in bed, Detective Amici sat next to her. "I'm here until we can get the security straightened out. I know Dr. Brown and Ranger Manoso are on their way."

Malika nodded and moved her hand towards her mouth as if eating. The detective watched a moment, "Thirsty or hungry?"

She held up first one finger and then two.

"Both?" Looking around, he saw the empty pitcher and the glass and straw. "I'll send officer O'Rouke in to sit with you while I find the water. I'll ask about the food."

After several good pulls on the water straw, she put her head back and slipped off to sleep. Kisses on the forehead woke her up.

"Thank god I read your email in time," Bobby whispered. "We got here as fast as we could."

"We?" she signed.

"Ranger, and several Rangemen who will be keeping watch for a while until Detective Amici can find out what happened. We are moving you tonight."

"Where?" she signed. Hopefully, not the VA. Arkady would be looking for her there and perhaps other nearby VAs.

"Someplace secure and private, not Stratton VA. Ranger and I have been working on it since your email."

Grabbing onto his hand firmly, the signed "Thank you" with her other hand. Once again Ranger and Bobby were rescuing her just as they had in Turkmenistan so many years before. Then she signed, "Food, now."

"You haven't been fed?"

"Afraid poison or drug," she signed.

"Damn, I'll get right to it. Can you suck soup?'

Nodding affirmative and signed, "No tomato, burns."


	14. Chapter 14

Bobby's and Malika's relationship moves to Trenton. Trouble will follow in future chapters, be patient.

**Chapter 14**

Walking into Malika's room in a private hospital in Philadelphia, Bobby saw her sitting in a chair, tapping away on the tablet. She was wearing black shorts with a grey long sleeve t-shirt. All that was missing were the Air Force markings indicating PT gear. "Are you planning a run through the challenge course," he asked, pointing to her clothing.

Tap, tap, tap, "Scrubs or this."

"You must be scrolling the web, buying a new wardrobe."

Nodding no, she tapped her tablet, and the synthesized voice spoke, "Picking my nose."

Bobby was momentarily stunned. Before he could respond, Malika retyped, clarifying her statement, "My new nose."

"What was wrong with your old nose?"

She tipped her eyes down, looking at her smashed nose that resembled a flat duck food while crossing her eyes.

He chuckled. Malika's physical strength was returning, which was improving her mental attitude. She was now playful. "No, your nose before."

She tapped her tablet a few times to call up her VA ID photo but couldn't access it. She was frustrated. Bobby came near to look at what she was doing. He quickly understood her frustration. "There's a lockdown on all information about you. I'm sure the doctors will create something to enhance your natural beauty."

She looked at him and signed, "Beautiful? When have you seen me uninjured?"

He kissed her and whispered, "Your beauty radiates from inside."

She frowned at him and signed, "Doctor, are you hitting on your patient?"

Laughing, Bobby said, "My dear, you were my patient long ago. Now you are my interest."

"Why?"

Why indeed. "Malika, years ago, I felt an attraction or connection when we carried you to the evac helicopter. You never took your eyes off me. It felt as if you were pulling strength from me. I felt a personal connection to you I've never felt with any other patient or woman. When they whisked you away, I felt empty, even wounded, as if they took part of me with you. Then the night in the Albany Emergency Room when Steve mentioned your name, something began burning inside of me."

"I'm pyrosis?" she typed.

"No smart ass, you are not heartburn. I'm trying to tell you I have special feelings for you."

"Why?" she tapped.

"Watch it. You sound like a young child with your _whys_. To answer you, though, you are a hell of a fighter, a warrior doctor, something I understand. Yet there's more, rather like magnetism."

"Ivan did say I an iron ass."

Bobby shook his head at his sassiness as he tried to look at her fanny. "I thought the term was Buns of Steel?"

She tapped quickly, "I feel something too, but thought it was dyspepsia. "(indigestion) Her eyes twinkled with the joke. Then extending her hand, she grasped Bobby's his like a teenager relishing the connection. They remained connected, staring at each other, communicating silently.

Bobby whispered, "Don't micromanage from the hospital bed. Trust the doctors."

She smiled, and the gold in her eyes sparkled. The Rangeman wondered what she would be like healthy. He planned to find out.

She signed, "Ears" and pointed to her mangle ear.

He'd forgotten her one ear was more like an elf's ear. "You know they will take a mold of your undamaged ear as reference for the repair. As I said, you are a beautiful woman, don't change the original design."

She tipped her head, remembering Sabrina, long ago in Turkmenistan, commented on her looks. Then it was, _"You are a lovely lady, but you are not of this tribe. Your eyes are too rounded, your lips are thinner, your ear lobes hang free, your jawline is strong, your hands are different, and your skin is too pale. You are not Arkady's child."_

_Malika answered the old lady, "You are correct, Sabrina, I am not Arkady's child. My father was Russian."_

_"Arkady doesn't know?" Sabrina asked. _

_"No. She never revealed the truth fearing his wrath. He beat her often, hastening her death. I have severed all legal ties to Arkady."_

-0-

When Angela/Malika woke from the facial and jaw reconstruction, Bobby was again sitting with her in recovery. "I wanted to be with you," he whispered. "You tolerated the anesthesia better this time.

The weight and muscle you have gained helped."

Her face was too swollen, the pain intense. All she could do was reach out her hand again. It was their way of communicating comfort and concern.

"The magic button is by your left hand, "Bobby uttered, watching her fight the pain. "You know you can't let the pain get ahead of you."

Her mind drifted, perhaps she slept. _She felt Ene's blows upon her body, the uterine and abdominal infection burn, the roar of the helicopter, but when she opened her eyes, there was the young medic. The one who willed her to hang on._

"You remembering Turkmenistan?" Bobby asked.

She gave a tiny hand squeeze. Moving her head was out of the question.

"Me too. I could feel your will to live then just as I feel your strength now. I supported you before, and I will do so again."

Malika squeezed his hand.

"The doctors are optimistic your jaw will heal completely but not sure if you'll be able to open it fully."

Malika shrugged a small shrug, withdrew her hand, and circled her finger.

Bobby frowned. "Other?"

"Stef" was all she could sign.

He smiled. "So much for talking about you, doctor. Bomber is doing well. Fortunately, she didn't need spinal support surgery. We are working at rebuilding her core to help with her back, but she continually fights us.

Her pain will continue unless she gets stronger.

Again Malika did the "other" sign but added W-A-Y-S.

"Ways? Other?" a confused Bobby asked.

"F-U-N-Y-0-G-A," Malika carefully signed so as not to jar her head and increase the pain.

"Funny yoga?" He sat for a minute and came back, "Yes, Other ways and fun, yoga. I get tunnel vision as I work so much with the military in rehab. You are right. She needs fun exercises. I'll send an email now to get her into yoga and the water for aerobics. You are ever the caring doctor even strung out on your meds."

Malika signed, "She PIA."

Bobby signed and shook his head in agreement, "But we love her anyway."

Malika flicked her finger up.

-0-

Malika's hospital release would be dependent on getting her weight back to 115 lbs. She'd then be a dozen-plus pounds short of her well-muscled weight of 130. That seemed far in the future. The doctors said they'd be pleased with 120 lbs. She exercised daily both through therapy and just clumping through the halls on her crutches and orthopedic boot. The doctors warned her voice might not return for several more months. That's what they said months ago.

A secret review board ruled to drop the unauthorized absence leave on her record. Her JAG attorney requested the hearing remain closed as the kidnapping appeared to relate to Afghanistan years ago, and the perpetrator had not located. Rangeman set up a secret account in the Caymans for her paychecks.

Forty-eight hours were all she had before she was released to begin out-patient therapy. Reality set in, she had no clothes other than the black workout clothes and scrubs, no idea where to live, and no transportation. Her daily email to Bobby began, "I'm being kicked to the street, literally. Outpatient rehab therapy. No job, I'm now on indefinite leave, Unemployed, without clothing, no shelter or transportation, and somewhere in Philadelphia. Hopefully, I find a suitable bridge to live under."

Bobby's return email came quickly. "I'll be there. We can't have you naked and sleeping under a bridge. What sizes?"

She wrote back, "5'7", current 115 lbs. Size unknown. Shoe 11, big feet means big heart." She had no idea why she added the last part. She remembered their closeness when she was drugged post-surgery. She accused Bobby of developing Florence Nightingale syndrome, where the doctor develops feeling for his patient. Was she developing erotomania where a patient develops feelings for their doctor? But Bobby isn't her doctor. Yes, he was her rescuer in Turkmenistan and had shown more than casual interest now. Should she step back and let space determine what was happening between them, or should she plow ahead and risk a broken heart? She was leaning towards _full steam ahead. _

Bobby wrote back, "If you agree, I'd like to have your rehab case transferred to me."

Malika smiled. "Do I sense ulterior motives, Dr. Brown, or are you saving travel expenses?"

"You know me well, Angel," referring to the name Stephanie initially knew her.

Once again, she hesitated. "I need to work to support myself."

"Under what name? Angela or Cheryl don't have a license. Your current job is to rehab 24/7. I'm waiting for higher-ups to let me handle your rehab with supervision from a VA center."

"Seriously, rehab 24/7 for leg and jaw?"

"You forgot mental rehab?"

"B.S."

Bobby typed back, "Think again, my dear. Isolation. You were not vacationing in Aspen. You can't work without a voice. It is time to build

body, mind, and possible relations with a handsome man in Trenton."

Well, she did think _full steam ahead._ What better way to rehab than with Bobby. "You'll find me with my thumb up, begging a ride to Trenton."

As promised, Bobby brought clothes, including underwear. Holding the bra and pants up, she signed, "Did you select these for me?"

Bobby blushed, "Ah, no. Ella, the Rangeman housekeeper, selected them thinking they were conservative enough for you."

Malika smiled and signed, "You or Ranger laying claim to me?"

"What?" He was confused and embarrassed as he glanced at the panties in her hand. The hip had Rangeman embroidered on it. There was a long pause, did Bobby dare speak his heart, or was he moving too fast? He wasn't Lester with a "chick du jour," but he has had girlfriends through the years. But Malika clicked with him, unlike anyone else. "I hope to," was all he could get out.

Once in the wheelchair heading for the door, Malika signed, "Money and cards."

"Your money is in the Caymans."

"Too far to sail through banking," she signed.

"We will front you the money," Bobby assured her.

"I am not a…" She didn't know what to sign. Finally, she spelled out LEECH.

"You aren't a parasite," he chuckled. Rangeman has accounts for undercover operations, plus I have sizeable savings."

"Undercover operations?" she signed.

Bobby froze. Was that a Freudian slip?

-0-

When told there were no open apartments at Rangeman, she assumed she would be living in an apartment near Joint Base McGuire-Dix. Instead, she was in Stephanie's flat on St. James. Stephanie had wanted to keep the place for her Grandma Mazur, but Edna had moved into the senior living facility as it was for more active and had transportation.

"Welcome to nothing," Stephanie swept her arm to show the aging three-story brick building. "It's been home for several years since I haven't been able to get ahead financially. The tenants are mostly elderly or young immigrants. Televisions are loud do to many hard of hearing neighbors. Fortunately, they turn in early at night. The cooking smells can be ethnic, depending on younger residents. Older residents are mostly into prepackaged meals or Meals on Wheels."

"Where you?" Malika signed keeping the words short for Stephanie's signing ability.

"Ranger has asked me to live with him," she blushed.

Malika scowled and signed, "Too soon."

"No, it's my next step in standing up and getting out of the Burg swamp," Stephanie countered.

Flipping her hand back and forth, Malika signed "Maybe."

"I'm talking to a counselor. It is the same one I was going to before Albany. You helped keep me examining my life. She is continuing to clean the clutter."

That got an immediate thumbs up from the doctor. Maybe Stephanie will complete her journey, Malika thought.

Stepping into the elevator, Mrs. Beastly was waiting in her usual location by the control panel. Without asking, she pushed the second-floor button. As the doors opened, the slightly demented lady said, "Second-floor, ladies casual clothes and footwear." Mrs. Bestly noted Malika's orthopedic walking boot.

Malika smiled. The building had entertainment too.

Having used the stairs, Bobby was already by the door. Stephanie explained, "He's clearing the apartment. I occasionally have unwelcome guests. As they came in, Stephanie explained, "Ella came over and cleaned and probably removed extra dead bodies."

Malika looked at her askance.

"Over the years, things have happened here. I don't know if you believe in ghosts, but I wouldn't be surprised if a few souls are still hanging around."

Bobby was along to sign, but there was no need. Malika eye's open wide as we took in the living room, she held her arms out as if to say, "It's big."

"It's not big, and it's not new, come see the bathroom." Stephanie's nose wrinkled in disgust as she showed the yellow and brown bathroom. Malika shrugged as if to say, "I've seen worse."

"I can have all my stuff out in a few hours, Steph said. "I'll leave the furniture. It's not the best, but the couch is new after the old one had dead body cooties. You can move in your possessions at any time."

Malika signed to Stephanie, "I have nothing."

"I can understand. A few firebombs have kept my clutter down. Come, I'll give you the Grand Tour," Stephanie smiled. Malika clumped through the bedroom to the window overlooking the fire escape.

"That might be a problem. I've had unwelcome guests come through there. Hector has updated the latch and replaced the glass with unbreakable plastic. Hopefully, there will be no more intruders. He has also enhanced the front door locks, but people seem to be able to overcome them."

"That's because you don't set the door bolt, Stephanie," Bobby commented.

Going into the kitchen, Steph said, "I have only a skillet and single pot for toasted cheese sandwiches and canned soup. Otherwise, I can't cook. There are a couple of dishes and mugs, silverware in the drawer. "

Malika pointed to her wired mouth. She couldn't eat. A straw was, at present, or only needed utensil.

"The great thing is the rent is paid for the next seven months." Stephanie didn't say Ranger was her benefactor. Malika couldn't ask what she meant but decided she didn't need to know anyway. The good thing about being mute is one doesn't tend to ask unnecessary questions.

Instead, she showed her delight, clapping her hands together in approval.

"Great! I'll get help cleaning out my stuff as I still can't lift anything.

Bobby pulled out his cell phone and began tapping a text to ask for Rangeman volunteers. Within moments several volunteers.

"While Stephanie and the gang back, do you want to go shopping?" Bobby asked.

"Why?" Malika signed.

"You need a blender to make your meals and non-Rangeman underwear," he replied, putting his hands on his hips.

Malika lowered the corner of her sweat pants, showing Stephanie the embroidery. Stephanie giggled, "Mine too. We'll have to go to Victoria's Secret and find you new duds."

Malika was going to sign "Hanes store until she caught Bobby's smile. He agreed with Stephanie. Having a love interest was going to change her wardrobe.

Once in Bobby's car, he turned and asked, "While I'd love to take you to Victoria's Secret myself, you need other items first. What do you want to shop for today?"

"Blender and groceries."

"Your choice dear, Walmart, or Target?"

"Since you need groceries, we'll go to Walmart."

Clumping through the store, perhaps more walking than she needed to be doing right now, she had a new blender, new bed and bath linens, sundries, fruits, vegetables, hemp hearts for protein along with nuts. Stephanie's skillet and saucepan wouldn't be needed yet. There was no use getting more. If she had gone to Costco, she would be walked out and not found near the selection of items.

"You need dinner and service ware. Maybe a four-piece set would be enough." Malika thought cups and glasses would be enough but remembered she might have others who actually ate. Nodding, she grabbed the first items she saw.

"Either you are an experienced shopper, or you don't care about coordination."

Malika smiled and signed, "No metal mess trays." How many meals had she eaten from the sectioned metal trays?

Looking into the basket, Bobby asked, "No clothes? You'll probably need a few more items. If you don't find something here, we can still go to Kohl's." Her wardrobe was limited to what he had brought her.

Mouthing "Oh," Malika returned to the clothing area. She went through the racks, quickly selecting a few items. Signing, she said, "More clothes later." As they loaded the items in Bobby's car, Malika signed she would need a used car of her own.

Bobby smiled, "We'll have to be careful. Bomber is known city-wide for her junkers. We don't want people to think she is living in the apartment again."

Malika had heard about Stephanie's relationship with cars and signed, "No, BOOMS."

Bobby took out his phone and tapped a message. Almost immediately, a reply came back. "The moving crew is working hard but haven't had lunch," Bobby reported. "I volunteered to pick up food. We'll go to Pino's."

Malika had heard about Pino's but was nowhere near chewing a meatball sub. She raised an eyebrow as if to ask, "What about me?"

"I'll ask Pino to whiz his white bean minestrone in a blender. You must be tired of milkshakes."

Malika shot both thumbs up. She would have a hot meal.

.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Wearing her sweats, t-shirt, and jacket into Pino's, Malika felt like she was bumming. The mid-day crowd wore casual office attire with a splattering of jeans with button-down shirts. Perhaps the cast on her leg gave her a pass on a better dress. As she and Bobby entered, the din dropped noticeably, but since the tall, dark Rangeman was not with Stephanie Plum, but rather a white stranger, the noise gradually returned, and the clientele ignored them. Bobby showed her to a table near the carryout counter. They sat sipping water until the order was ready. Bobby had no more vacated the chair to pay and pick up the order when a stranger sat next to Malika.

"You are new in town." It was a statement, not a question. Stephanie mentioned the Burg's propensity for gossip. A new face was cause for investigation.

Malika slapped on a granite face. She didn't know this individual and remained unmoving.

"Do you work with those thugs?" the very nosy man continued.

Nodding no, she carefully watched the man. He wasn't drunk, but he had been drinking. It was early afternoon. Maybe he worked an odd shift or had the day off.

"I don't see a ring, and you say you aren't working with them, so I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me? I could show you around."

Malika wanted to laugh. This jerk funked the smooth move challenge. Scowling at the man, she tried to convey she was not interested. Glancing up, she noticed Bobby motioning for her to join him. She stood to leave.

Before she could clear the table, the man grabbed her hand, "What, you think you are too good to speak to me?"

With a lightning-fast maneuver, she disengaged his grip and moved away, saying nothing. For a microsecond, she considered carrying it further, putting him on the floor, but Gossip Central didn't need to see her in action.

"Bitch," he murmured.

She turned around suddenly, shaking her head yes and smiling menacingly. Continuing to the take out counter, she stood next to Bobby. When introduced to Nick Pino, the restaurant owner exclaimed, "You are the one who wanted to ruin my minestrone by pureeing it?"

Malika parted her lips and pointed to the wires in her mouth.

"Mr. Pino, this is Cheryl Burns. In addition to the broken jaw, she is also mute. She communicates by sign language."

Mr. Pino winced, "I'm sorry."

Malika gave the thankyou motion then stuck her hand out to shake. There were no hard feelings. As they left, Malika took one of the bags with the lunches as she and Bobby left. Bobby quickly moved behind her. Once outside, Bobby said, "Looks like you pissed off Joe Morelli. Congratulations."

Malika's eyes shot up. Stephanie had discussed her problems with Joe Morelli at great length when they were trapped in the mountains. Granted, Joe Morelli was a handsome man, but from her brief encounter with him, she thought him crude and rude. Stephanie made him sound nicer.

"Did Stephanie tell you about him?" Bobby asked.

Nodding yes, Malika waited until she was in the car, and her hands were free to sign, "He was hitting on me."

Bobby's face turned a deeper brown. He was mad. "Be careful with Joe. He has always been hostile towards Rangeman. Since he lost Stephanie, he's been even more volatile."

The return to the St. James street apartment found moving activities in full force. "Come, meet the guys," Bobby said.

Mrs. Bestly was again directing visitors, "Second floor, Gentlemen's fine wear, and lunchroom." The older lady caught a whiff of the Pino's orders.

Several Rangemen and Stephanie were in the apartment, drinking water while they waited for their lunch. Malika had only seen a few Rangemen. These new additions were as beautiful as Bobby, Ranger, and the guards outside her room in Philadelphia.

"Guys," Bobby started as he put his hand gently on the small of Malika's back in an unconscious act of possession, "This is..." Bobby stopped. How should she introduce her?

"Forgot her name already, Bobby?" Lester asked.

"No, it's just she is still under an alias or two. Bomber calls her Angela, but her more recent alias is Cheryl." Then looking at the men, he realized they all had high degrees of security clearance, plus these were the most trusted in the group. "OK, guys, this is a military security issue. Mum is the word. Men, let me introduce Air Force Major Malika Arkadyevney. Bomber's companion in the Adirondack's."

Before Bobby could continue, the men stood at attention and saluted. Malika wondered if they were still in service. She returned the salute, though nobody was in uniform. It wasn't correct military protocol. Maybe they were trying to thank her for her action saving Stephanie.

Bobby began the introductions, "Malika, this is Lester, Hal, Ram, and Cal."

Each one came up and first hugged her and said softly, "Ma'am, thank you for saving Bomber." Malika was in awe of the love for Stephanie.

Lester smiled. He had watched Bobby's reaction when he learned her name in Albany. When he returned to Trenton, Bobby was often distracted, wondering when he could get to Albany to visit her. "Major…" Lester began, but Malika stopped him and signed, "Other name."

"Ah, OK, Cheryl, are you ready to inherit all of Beautiful's _duendes?_" he finished.

Before Bobby could translate _duende,_ Malika smiled and carefully spelled out _Baba Yaga."_

"I don't know what a _Baba Yaga_ is," Lester said, showing he could sign.

Ram jumped in, "Russian Boogeyman."

"It ought to be cozy here," Lester laughed.

Malika signed, "Speak _Rusiky yazyk_?" (Russian language)

The tall man with blue eyes and dark hair smiled, "Yes, ma'am, my maternal grandmother was Russian. She wanted all her grandchildren to know her original language. I was her best student."

Stephanie looked at the pizzas and sandwiches. "What will Angel, er, Cheryl eat?"

Malika held up a quart container. "She has soup," Bobby explained.

"From Pino's? I thought all they had was minestrone?" Stephanie asked.

"Nick pureed it for her. She can drink it down, but she might want to heat it first."

"EEEUW," shuddered Stephanie.

Lester chuckled, "You've never had a broken jaw."

After lunch, Stephanie watched the Rangemen gather the last boxes. Turning to Malika, Stephanie said, "I think I have everything. I've had a few start-overs after disasters. It tends to cut down on the clutter."

Dillon, the superintendent/janitor, knock and stood at the door, " Are you leaving permanently, Stephanie?"

Thinking of the many times she had tried to leave only to return, she hesitated. She was again living with Ranger, but was it strictly while she was in rehab? For sure, Joe was off the books. Were she and Ranger moving to a relationship, or was he only offering his apartment until she got stronger? "Cheryl Burns will be living here. But just in case, hold the apartment until the end of the lease."

The Rangemen and Malika tried to hide their disappointment. As long as Stephanie hung onto this apartment, she would never move forward either to Ranger or other horizons. Dillon nodded his head, "Then I'm sure I'll see you around."

Lights in the apartment had people wondering if Stephanie had returned. One of the first visitors was Joe Morelli. He had not seen Stephanie since their October breakup and assumed Stephanie had gotten over her huff. They could start up again.

The knock at the door was unexpected. Usually, Bobby or another Rangeman called before they came. Looking through the door's peephole, Malika expected to see one of her fellow apartment dwellers. Instead, she saw the man she had seen a few days earlier at Pino's. Just in case, a picture taped to the door for quick reference indicated it was the same man, six feet tall, dark wavy hair often in need of a hair cut, dark eyes, handsome face with a scar through an eyebrow, fit but not Rangeman build. It was Joe Morelli, TPD cop-detective, and former Stephanie boyfriend. She opened the door but kept the pathetic chain on and her foot against the door. A defensive stick was just within reach. Joe was momentarily startled, seeing the woman from Pino's. "I'm here to see Stephanie."

Malika shook her head no.

"She's not here?"

Malika shook her head no again.

"Do you know where she is? She must be back from New York by now."

Malika shook her head no a third time and quickly signed M-U-T-E. There was no way she'd let him know Stephanie was at Rangeman.

"Are you a friend of Cupcakes?"

Keeping her foot against the door, Malika put her hands up to indicate she didn't know who that was. Being unable to speak, she had to use more body language to get her message across. She could whisper, barely but didn't want to get close to Morelli.

"You must know her. First, you were hanging around with that Rangeman baboon at Pino's. Now you are in her apartment." He tried to peek into the apartment but could only see the hat rack on the wall. It belonged to Stephanie. "That's her hat rack. I know she is here. Let me in."

Malika stood defiant.

"I could make this police business and force you to let me in," he said, trying to push on the door.

Not being able to speak had perfected her facial expressions, and she used her "Good luck with that asshole" look on Morelli. It worked because he backed down.

Trying a different tactic, Joe turned on his Italian charm. After all, he was the Italian Stallion, and no woman in Trenton could refuse his charms. She was of the right sex if not a few years older and too slender for his tastes, but Morelli always got his way. Leaning one hand on the door frame, he smiled sweetly and, in a lower voice, said, "I didn't identify myself at Pino's. I'm Joe Morelli, Detective Joe Morelli. Maybe you have heard of me."

Malika nodded, no. She wished she could laugh at his pathetic pickup attempts.

"Don't talk, do you? It does not matter. I like the silent type. I could show you around Trenton and take you to dinner. Do you dance?"

Malika pointed to the orthopedic boot still on her foot and the wires in her mouth.

"Or we could go out for a few drinks."

Malika signed she didn't drink.

Joe shrugged, "While I don't read sign language, I'm sure we can figure out other ways to communicate." His pathetic attempt at a smile came out closer to a leer. To a young, virginal girl, his lines might have worked. But Malika was older, wiser, and had a preconceived opinion of Detective Joseph Morelli. His _Don Giovanni _act was old and tired. What did Stephanie call him? Malika chuckled, the self-proclaimed Italian Stallion was hardly a Ferrari, but closer to a Vespa.

Malika shut the door, threw the locks, and walked away but not before hearing, "I'll be back, you bitch."

That was what worried Malika. Taking paper and a broad felt tip pen, she wrote, "STEPHANIE PLUM NO LONGER LIVES HERE. Forwarding address Unknown." She made two copies, one for the door and one for the bedroom window by the fire escape.

Several days later, Helen Plum came to call. She had completed her rehab and wanted to find her wayward daughter. Stephanie was not fulfilling her obligation to attend family dinners. When Helen complained to her husband, Frank once again explained Stephanie was in physical rehab and psychological counseling. Their daughter would call them when she was ready. What Frank didn't tell Helen was he had been visiting with his daughter frequently since her return.

Returning from the basement laundry room, Malika's hands held a laundry basket. Balancing the basket on one hip and against the wall while she unlocked the door, she heard, "Excuse me, can you help me?"

Malika turned as Helen Plum came near. "I'm here to talk to my daughter." In an instant, Helen bumped open the door and walked in. Following Helen into the apartment, Malika set the laundry basket down and moved to face Helen. Stephanie's mother was looking around. Malika had painted the walls and, rearranged the furniture, and used throws over the chairs The apartment looked different.

"Where is my daughter?" Helen demanded. "This is her apartment, isn't it."

Malika nodded no while remaining relaxed, breathing through her nose and out between her barely opened lips, keeping her muscles loose in case she needed to react to this woman's actions. Sweeping her arms around the room and pointing to her chest, Malika indicated the apartment was hers.

Not understanding Malika's message, Helen said in an agitated voice, "Where is my daughter?" and pushed Malika aside. Malika stepped back, allowing the woman access to the apartment. "Stephanie Michelle Plum, where are you? This is your mother. Get out here immediately."

Malika reached into her pocket for the Rangeman emergency fob. She didn't feel she was in danger. She needed a translator.

Helen Plum stomped through the bedroom and bathroom before storming back into the living room. "Where is she? Malika shrugged. "This is her couch! She just bought this." Helen ranted while picking up a decorative pillow Malika had purchased and flung it across the room. "This is hideous. She doesn't know how to decorate."

The pillow clipped Stephanie's glass lamp Malika had moved from the bedroom sending is crashing to the floor. Helen didn't notice. Instead, she went to the only chair covered in a throw. Removing the throw, the woman shrieked, "This is our chair! We gave it to her. You have no right to this chair." Helen started pushing it towards the front door. The throw was dislodged and caught under the chair's back leg quietly ripping. In the process, Helen ground the glass from the lamp into the carpet.

Next, the crazed woman spied an end table that once held the now broken lamp, and tried to reclaim. "This is my table." Before Malika could grab the table, Helen had pulled it over onto its side.

At any point, Malika could have pushed Helen out of the apartment but allowed her to rant on until someone arrived to explain Malika was subleasing. If Helen were forced into the hallway, she would scream and beat on the door, bothering the neighbors, and rousing the police.

Marching into the kitchen area, Stephanie's mother yanked one of the mismatched wood dining chairs out from the table and tossed it across the floor. "She ruined these chairs by painting them." Helen began opening the cabinet doors. Steph's old dishes were off to the side. "These are her ugly dishes," she said, throwing them crashing to the floor. The few mugs and glasses suffered a similar fate. Malika's new dishes were in the dishwasher. "If she were married, she would have a proper matching set," the raving woman screeched.

The drawers containing silverware and a couple of cooking utensils were pulled out and dumped onto the floor. Malika watched Helen did not pick up the two knives among the tools. Malika knew the destruction wouldn't last long. There were only a few breakable items left. One was the cookie jar Stephanie forgot to take with her. Helen picked it up, ready to send it crashing down, but Malika adroitly took it away from her and put it in the oven. Helen paid no attention as her mind was spinning wildly.

Stephanie's old skillet and sauce were pulled from the under-cabinet and flung across the room, landing in the living room. Thankfully they were not cast iron resulting in no damage. Helen realized the new blender sat where the aquarium once stood. "You kidnapped Rex!"

Malika tipped her head as if to ask who was Rex, as she inched toward the blender to save it from being damaged. Quickly grabbing the appliance, she set it on the floor away from the distressed woman. Meanwhile, Helen was opening other cabinets. "I know she's here, there's no food here, just this hamster food which she dropped to the floor. It wasn't hamster food. It was Malika's flax seed which spilled across the floor. "My daughter is the only woman in the world without food in her cabinets." Malika thought of some of the places she'd been in the world and could think of millions of women without food or cabinets. If the woman had looked in the refrigerator, she would have seen the fruits and vegetables Malika used in her smoothies.

Marching into the bathroom, Helen zeroed in on the water pump device Malika used to clean teeth and gums. "This isn't hers," she sneered as she swept it to the floor. The shower curtain tore as the woman yanked it aside. Next to be attacked was the linen closet. Helen threw open the door and started removing the linens and cleaning supplies. Did she think her adult daughter was hiding under the towels?

Helen continued her tirade as she stormed into the bedroom and saw the bed. "This was my mother's bed. You have no right to it!" Grabbing Malika's new comforter, Helen tore it from the bed and began going after the sheets. The pillows were tossed from the bed, hitting the bedside lamp. It crashed to the floor, denting the shade. Helen was determined to move the mattress off the bed, but it was too unwieldily, so Helen turned to another target. "This dressing table is hers. She's had it since she was twelve! You stole her furniture."

Malika watched, waiting for Helen to collapse eventually. Rage this intent could not be sustained for much longer. Aside from the broken lamp and Stephanie's old dishes, nothing else was damaged. If the woman started on the windows, walls, or physically came after Malika, that would require intervention.

Helen went to the dresser and began pulling out the drawers and dumping the limited contents on the floor. "Where are her obscene undergarments. She dresses like a whore. I cringe each time I do her laundry." Helen continued to the closet and began throwing items back into the bedroom, screaming, "Where is she?"

"Helen Plum, what are you doing here?" Eddie Gazarra said from the bedroom door. Big Dog was behind him as were several nosy neighbors.

Helen was screaming while waving Malika's sweater around. "She won't tell me where my daughter is. She has stolen Stephanie's furniture. Where is my daughter?"

"When was the last time you talked with Stephanie?'' Eddie asked calmly, trying to talk down his aunt through marriage.

"She calls but refuses to come to dinner on Fridays and Sundays. She refuses to take my mother to viewings forcing her to ride with other seniors from the senior center who shouldn't be driving."

"Helen, Edna doesn't need a ride now that she's at the senior living center. They provide transportation."

"All Frank tells me is Stephanie is safe. I know she's here. Joseph said he saw lights in the window and said someone was in her apartment." Turning to Malika, Helen stormed forward. "Are you a friend or her nurse? Do you work for Vinnie? Say something, damn you!" Helen yelled while shaking a sweater.

"She can't, she's mute," said a voice from outside the doorway. Big Dog turned and stepped to the side. Lester and Cal were standing outside the bedroom doorway along with several nosy apartment neighbors.

"Care to elaborate, guys?" Eddie asked.

"Not only is Cheryl Burns' jaw broken, but she also has vocal cord damage along with the broken leg."

Eddie and Big Dog looked down at the orthopedic boot. Since Malika was wearing loose dark trousers, the leg brace and boot blended in.

Lester continued, "Rangeman monitors this apartment. We are responding to the tenant's request for emergency assistance."

Eddie countered, "We responded to a disturbance call called in by the neighbors. Since the tenant is mute, can either of you sign?"

"Yes sir, we both can," Cal answered.

Eddie began, "Ask her what is going on."

Cal laughed, "Ask her yourself. She can hear but can't speak."

Cal translated as Malika signed, "Crazy lady forced her way in."

Eddie turned to Helen, "Did you force your way in?"

Shaking her head, Helen answered, "No, she asked me in."

"Helen, she is mute," Eddie reminded her. "She can not speak."

Unphased, Helen continued, "Joe said someone was in Stephanie's apartment. He has been watching the windows and stopped by. He said some stranger was keeping Stephanie from him. I came to find my daughter and found this woman stole all my possessions and kidnapped my daughter."

"Your possessions?" Eddie asked.

"Yes, I gave them to Stephanie. I want them back NOW!"

Lester quietly retreated into the living room and called Stephanie. "Your mother is in your apartment saying Cheryl stole all your mother's furniture, demanding its return. Well, the stuff your mother has not destroyed."

"WHAT!" Stephanie shrieked, causing Les to hold the phone away from his ear. Bull shit, Les. She has given me a few pieces over the years, saying she did not want any of it back. Plus, none of the furniture in the apartment was her's. The last firebombing destroyed everything. The couch I bought new, everything else I bought at a second-hand store, including the bedroom set."

"Tell Eddie," Les said as he handed his phone to Eddie. The policeman listened, said a few words, and gave the phone back to Lester.

"Is that my daughter? I demand to speak with her," Helen screamed as she rushed towards Lester.

Lester had already disconnected. Malika noted he kept his phone in his hand. He was recording. Eddie and Big Dog also had lapel cameras. Hopefully, they were recording as well.

Eddie began, "Helen, Stephanie said there is nothing of yours in the apartment. She lost everything in the last fire. The couch is new everything else came from a resale store on Oden."

Helen stood shaking her head, no. "She is lying. She can not afford to feed herself, how can she afford furniture? If she married Joe, she would have a house, furniture, and matching dishes."

Malika walked out of the room observed by the four men and nosy neighbors inside the apartment. Moving the overturned side table Helen had insisted was hers, Malika retrieved a plastic bin underneath. Retrieving a file containing the rental agreement stating the apartment was furnished and monitored by Rangeman for security. Then walking around the neighbors standing in the living, she went to the front door and tore off the sign, giving it to Eddie.

Eddie read the rental agreement and the paper sign. Showing Helen the door sign, Eddie asked, "Did you see this on the front door, Helen? It clearly states Stephanie no longer lives here."

Helen read it and tore it from Eddie's hand and crumbled it. "Lies! Joe said Stephanie was living here. Instead, I find her kidnapper. Who is this person? I demand to know where she is keeping my daughter." Helen started pacing around the bedroom, still waving Malika's sweater in her hand.

Eddie knew talking to Helen was useless but continued, "This is a rental agreement. The apartment is subleased as a fully furnished unit. All furniture is part of the lease." Helen tried to grab the contract from Eddie as she had the sign, "The papers are false. They are forgeries by this kidnapper. She is a liar and kidnapped my daughter. Why aren't you arresting this, this...criminal?"

Eddie was resigned. Helen was out of control. He turned to Malika, "Ma'am, do you wish to press trespass, damage, and assault charges?"

Looking around the apartment, Malika admitted the area was a mess. Broken glasses, dishes, and a lamp lay strewn. Drawers and closets had been disturbed. Glancing at Lester, she could see the twinkle in his eyes. He wanted her to throw the book at the lady. Malika made a decision. Turning to Eddie, she signed yes to trespass and damage and, no to assault. "She never physically touched me," Malika signed. As Lester translated, there was a shade of disappointment in his eyes.

Helen looked at Lester and Cal as if she now noticed them. "Why are these thugs here?" Spinning around to face Malika, Mrs. Plum screamed, "Who are you? You and these thugs have kidnapped my daughter. Joe told me so!" Helen was going off the deep end. Officer, arrest these people!"

With Helen's face so close to Malika's, the booze breath was unmistakable. So much for alcohol treatment. Not only was she drunk, but Helen Plum was also mentally ill.

"If Stephanie wants to contact you, she will," Eddie said as he moved closer apparently to pull Helen back away from Malika.

"I'm not asking you, birdbrain," Helen screamed as she pushed Eddie back into Big Dog and went after Malika's face. But before anyone could register the movement, Malika turned, forcing Helen off balance and lowered her, gently to the floor. Then Malika quickly stepped back. Helen was quiet for a moment, trying to register how she ended up on the floor before screaming, "She tried to kill me."

"No, Helen, you assaulted me and were going after her. You lost your balance and fell on your own. She broke the fall." As Eddie lifted his aunt to her feet and began handcuffing her, he explained Helen her rights. He stated the charges were trespassing, damage to property, assault on the police officer, an attempted attack on the homeowner.

Helen reacted with more shrieking. To help Eddie, Big Dog moved closer. It was a mistake. Helen lashed out with her foot catching Big Dog's knee, forcing the man to fall. In an instant, Eddie put Helen back on the floor. Big Dog pulled out his pepper spray just in case. "Helen Plum, stop now! If you continue, you will be sprayed with pepper spray and taken out in leg shackles. Do you understand?" Eddie warned.

Helen continued screaming, but before Big Dog could spray her, Malika took the spray out of his hand and shook her head no while mimicking pinching her nose. Malika removed a scarf from around her neck and secured it over Helen's mouth. The shock of being gagged stopped the screaming.

Eddie leaned over, "Helen, will you stand and quietly walk with me?"

Helen was still dazed, but nodded. She wasn't sure why, but it seemed appropriate. Eddie and Big Dog lifted her to her feet, standing behind her in case she lashed out again. Malika returned the pepper spray to Big Dog, signing, "Thank you."

Eddie led Helen out the door, "My apologies Ms. Burns. I hope you do not have any more unwelcome visitors. You'll have to come to the station to complete the paperwork. You'd best bring someone who can sign, maybe one of these guys." As Eddie led the still gagged Helen down the hall, she was looking around, hoping nobody was watching. She did not want to be on the Burg gossip-line. No such luck. The residents in Malika's apartment joined others in the hall to watch the parade. Some were recording it on their phones.

Lester and Call smiled as they watched the procession down the hall. "Can we be of further service? Perhaps you need assistance in cleaning up the damage caused by Mrs. Plum," Lester said, purposely a bit louder so those residents in the hall could feed the Burg grapevine.

Malika looked around, noting the broken lamp chards in the carpet and mimicked a vacuum cleaner. Cal had his cell phone out instantly and called Haywood. "A vacuum is on the way."

Lester and Cal stepped back in and closed the door ending the resident's free show. "Why didn't you use your fancy moves to get her out?"

"You saw that?" she signed.

Lester chuckled, "Very subtle. I'm not sure Eddie or Big Dog noticed."

"I called you to translate. Thank you." Continuing to sign, she added, "Steph's cop was here the two days ago."

"Yeah, we heard Helen mention it. Did he come to the door or remain in the parking lot?"

Malika signed, "Door. What a jerk."

Cal used his phone to record the apartment's condition before Malika started putting it back together. "The police will need evidence." Malika nodded her approval. Cal then reset the mattress on the bed and put the lamp back on the bedside table while Malika started putting items back in the drawers and closets. She chuckled to herself, thankfully she and Stephanie hadn't gotten to Victoria's Secret for sexy undergarments. Her apartment fire in Albany had destroyed all her better clothing.

By the time Hector brought the vacuum to remove the debris from the carpet, Lester had swept up the broken glass, china, and flax seed, replaced the utensils and cookware, wiped the kitchen floor to remove any glass shards, and emptied the dishwasher placing the new dishes in the empty cabinets. Cal used duct tape as a temporary fix for the shower curtain, and Malika straightened the linen closet. The three Rangemen reset the furniture. As they made the final inspection, Les asked Malika if she was OK and needed a guard. She indicated she was OK. Then remembering the cookie jar in the oven, Malika held up a finger telling the guys to wait. Retrieving the unusually heavy cookie jar, she gave it to Lester.

Signing, "For Steph."

Lester removed the lid and looked inside. Pulling out the revolver, he asked, "Are you sure you don't want to keep it? Just in case Joe Morelli returns."

Malika smiled and nodded, no. She never thought to look in the jar for cookies as she couldn't eat them anyway. Why had Stephanie kept her weapon in a cookie jar?

Several hours later, Bobby texted Malika, asking if she wanted to join him and other Rangemen for dinner.

She texted back, "Someone watching from the parking lot. Don't come near."

"Meet me at the front door. I'll be in a white Shelby."

Bobby pulled to the apartment building's front door in his vehicle, not a Rangeman vehicle. The restored Shelby was his pride and joy. Wearing a hoodie, Malika emerged from the apartment's front door to the lovely Shelby and hurried in.

Bobby leaned over as she entered and kissed her, "You've had an interesting day. Are you alright?"

She nodded, yes. "Crazy woman," she signed.

Bobby nodded, "They tested Mrs. Plum at the police station. She's drinking again. At her arraignment, she became combative. The judge ordered her to the hospital psychiatric unit. Helen has more than alcohol problems. I saw Lester's video. You handled her well."

Malika glanced behind. "Escort?"

"There was someone in the parking lot. Dark windows so we could not identify him. The license plates went back to a rental. The rental agreement shows the renter is a restaurant in Atlantic City."

"Mob?" Malika signed.

"We don't know. Maybe someone is visiting someone else in your apartment."

Malika doubted it belonged to a visitor.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

When Malika and Bobby arrived at Shorty's tavern, Bobby leaned over and kissed her on the lips, "I'll find something for you to eat inside, don't worry. It is time for you to relax and get to know more of the guys."

Shorty's wasn't in a good neighborhood, but the abundance of big black Rangeman vehicles and security men nearby kept the immediate area safe for an hour or two. At the back of the room sat Stephanie along with Ranger, Tank, Cal, Hal, Hector, Ram, Manny, and Lester. Stephanie stood carefully and hugged Malika. "Oh my God, are you OK?"

Malika signed, Bobby translated, "I am OK. Sorry about the breakages."

Stephanie shrugged, "They were all from the second-hand store. That's why I left them."

Malika signed again. "I met Joe. He tried his moves on me twice."

Before Stephanie could get further upset, Lester cut in, "Please tell me you did to Joe what you did to Mrs. Plum."

All eyes went between Lester, Malika, and Bobby, waiting for more information.

"Oh, my god, what did she do to my mother?" Stephanie asked Lester.

The Rangeman leaned back in his chair and smiled. "When your mother attacked Eddie and kicked Big Dog in the nuts, she turned and tried to attack Malika. Suddenly your mother was sitting on the floor. Malika barely touched her. Good moves, doc." Taking out his phone, he replayed the confrontation. "I'm not sure the Boss could do it any better."

Stephanie watched the video. "What did Angel, er, Cheryl, hell Malika do? It looked like my mother tripped," Stephanie asked.

After Ranger reviewed the video, he looked up, "Where did you get your training?" He saw the subtle move Stephanie missed.

Malika glanced at Bobby, giving him the nonverbal, OK. She didn't want to waste time signing. "She knows Systema," Bobby said simply.

Tank sat up straight, nearly vibrating, "You do?"

Malika raised her eyebrows and signed, "You know ?"

Tank nodded, "I remember an older Russian Army officer humiliate some college ROTC cadet at training camp."

Lester's eyes twinkled, "If I remember one drunken night in a bar and tales, that was you and the old Russian. He cleaned your clock."

Tank shook his head, "That's why I keep my tequila shots to under six. Too many shots and my stories get way too personal. I thought I was a hotshot athlete, wrestler, and boxer. He never broke a sweat, but I was flying through the air more than I was on my feet."

Malika slapped the table to drag people's eyes back to her. She quickly signed, "His name?"

Tank thought a minute, "Ivan...Rostov, I think."

Malika smiled broadly, showing the wire work in her mouth. She was excited. "My bio-father," she signed.

"What's Systema?" Stephanie asked.

Ranger smiled, "The new name is Systema SPETSNAZ. It's origins go back to the Cossacks and monastic monks. Spetsnaz is a type of Russian Martial Arts used by Russian Special Forces.

"Monks fight?" Stephanie asked.

"When it is necessary to defend themselves, Babe."

Tank turned to Malika, "I assume your father taught you?"

Malika signed, "Yes, Ivan was a Spetsnaz officer and my step-father's attaché." She was not going to get into personal history and left it at that. If given time, they could probably figure it out.

Tank asked, "How good are you?"

Malika wiggled her eyebrows as if to ask how good at what? Fortunately, Bobby didn't see her eye action.

Lester did and coughed before saying, "I think he is asking if you are good at Systema." Lester was beginning to think Malika had a similar quirky nature like his.

Malika nodded and signed, "Let me heal. I will show you."

Ranger wanted to move the conversation away from Malika and back to what happened early that day. "Babe, already the Burg grapevine is alive with Helen marching out of your old apartment in handcuffs. By the time she reached TPD, a crowd was waiting. Her charges are trespassing, property damage, and assault on two police officers and Malika.

Unfortunately, at her arraignment, she became combative, and the judge ordered her for psychiatric evaluation."

At first, Stephanie was horrified. This was not the mother she knew. How had Helen Plum fallen to actual physical abuse? Was it the alcohol or had her daughter driven by years of disappointment?

Malika watched Stephanie and slapped the table to stop the woman's mind from traveling into darker regions. Then nudging Bobby, Malika indicated he should speak up. He knew what to say, "Bomber, mental illness is a vast field. There are three general three cause categories: environmental, psychological, and biological. Within each category are numerous possibilities and probably more yet discovered. For example, with biological, the cause may be a neurotransmitter malfunction. Medication and counseling often help. It might be a brain defect through injury, genetics, or substance abuse. Psychological might be due to emotional, sexual, or other physical damage. Environmental causes include the death of a loved one or very close friend, divorce, dysfunctional families, low self-esteem, anxiety, anger, loneliness, cultural expectation, substance abuse, and on and on. I've just scratched the surface to show you the type and cause is not something for amateurs to decided over pizza and beer."

Stephanie sat and listened carefully, "Bobby, some of those causes relate to my own life, most notably cultural expectations."

"Yes, Bomber, they do. That is why you were getting help before Albany and should continue now. We don't know your mother's history, but you have had countless head traumas, you were raised in a restrictive environment, suffered abuse, and more. You could easily slip over the line. That's why Tank and I pushed you to get counseling when you joined Rangeman. As I told you before, there isn't a man at this table who hasn't sought help."

"Have you worked with a therapist, Malika?"

Malika nodded and signed, "Often." After Turkmenistan, the Air Force insisted she get help before they let her back to duty. It took almost a year and only her position as a doctor kept her in service.

Ranger quietly said, "Babe, your mother is troubled. Maybe this will turn her around."

Stephanie shook her head, "Burg residents don't do mental health. They either drink, use drugs, or overeat."

Tank snorted, but he dare not say, "Obviously." Stephanie and her sugar, Joe and his drinking, Mooner and Dougie, Lula, and about a dozen different people he could name quickly.

Stephanie huffed, "Daddy and I will have to talk about getting her more help."

Ranger replied, "Your sister will have to be on board as well. Helen's escalation to violence could pose dangers to your nieces."

"Oh, geez...Valerie will blame me, of course."

Malika slapped the table again. This time she signed with sharp, almost angry motions, "Listen self!"

Hal sat back, "Wow, I've never seen someone sign angrily."

Malika snapped her head to Hal and gave him the single-finger salute. The table broke into laughter, breaking the tension. When the laughter died down, nobody spoke, perhaps waiting for Stephanie to respond to Malika's observation. Lester spoke up, "Malika has done wonders with your apartment, Steph. I hardly recognized it."

Stephanie smiled, "I'd love to see it."

Malika shook her head no. Signed, "It's not safe."

Tank huffed, "It's never been safe."

Before Stephanie could snap back at Tank, Bobby spoke up. "We sent a decoy through your parking lot, Bomber, but didn't recognize the person sitting in a car in the lot."

"Great, another stalker," Stephanie groaned. "Don't they ever give up? Maybe it was Joe."

Tank answered, "No, we checked. Joe was at the station. We ran the plates. They went to an Eastern European restaurant in Atlantic City." The name on the rental contract did not match anyone working at the restaurant, but Malika or Steph didn't need to know.

Malika and Bobby exchanged looks with Ranger.

Malika started to sign, but Bobby stopped her, "Steph can't sign that quickly. I'll explain it. Stop me if I go too far."

She nodded her approval. Turning to the others, "Malika may have her stalkers. The people who attacked her in Albany last fall spoke Russian."

"Why would the Russians be after her?" Tank asked.

"Her step-father was a Russian ambassador of Turkmen descent. While they were living in Paris, he attacked his wife and Malika.

He was sent to prison in Russia for ten years. After his release, he had her kidnapped from Bagram and taken to Turkmenistan to marry into his Turkmen family. A Ranger team rescued her."

Tank sat up, "That was you? The new medic said you would die."

Bobby smiled, "Yeah, I was a bit premature in my prognosis back then."

Stephanie quietly said, "In the mountains, you indicated someone was trying to kill you. Is that why you were out there?"

Malika signed, "I ran. Got lost."

Stephanie suddenly remembered, "You said Eastern European, didn't you? There's a Mr. Kovacs on the first floor and a Mrs. Tarnowski up on the third floor. Maybe the car in the parking lot was a relative of theirs."

Malika shut her eyes as if to pray that was the case. Had she jumped to conclusions?

The chatter about the table became generic as they waited for their order. When it arrived, Stephanie smiled. She loved Pino's meatball sandwich, but Shorty's made a better pizza. Plus, the chances of running into Joe were less than at Pino's, the cop-bar. "Wait, how is Malika going to eat?" Stephanie asked. "They don't have soup here to whiz in a blender like at Pino's." The second waitress brought a frozen drink from the bar.

"She gets a milkshake while we eat," Bobby's answered.

"Aren't you tired of those?" Stephanie asked.

Vigorously nodding, she was indeed tired of the liquid diet. Then drinking from the glass as sucking through a straw was painful as the compressed cheeks rubbed against the wires, she stopped and gave Bobby the Evil Eye.

He put on his medic face, "While a White Russian would be ethnically correct, I thought you needed fruit in addition to the cream and alcohol. It is a Dirty Banana made a whole banana, rum, coffee liqueur, and cream with a hint of chocolate."

"Sounds like a banana split," Ram observed. "All it needs is a cherry on the top."

Quickly Malika signed, "Seduction drink?"

Bobby didn't translate but did blush. Everyone else, except Stephanie, put their heads down and smiled. Steph wasn't fast enough to read the message.

-0-

Arkady sat at his table at the Mari Vanna restaurant on East 20th in Manhattan. The parlor-like setting was one of elegance: crystals chandeliers and sconces, cream-colored walls, pseudo-French provincial furniture. The Russian restaurant is one of a franchise from Moscow, proving the Russians took to capitalism quickly. We gave them McDonald's and Starbucks. They sent an elegant restaurant.

Arkady's mood did not match the atmosphere. He poured vodka from the requisite table bottle and offered to refill the other diner's glass. The vodka cut through the beef short ribs' richness, cleansing his palette. After a large gulp, he began speaking in Russian. "Have you finally found her?"

"Yes and no. She disappeared for months after the attempted kidnapping. We think she was hiding in the Adirondack mountains."

Arkady stormed, "It was not a kidnapping. I was reclaiming my daughter."

The man nodded and continued, "She was in a hospital in Albany for several weeks but under an alias. She was due to undergo facial reconstruction when we went to get her, but she had gone with the police."

"Was she in the hospital attempting to alter her appearance?"

"No, it was due to the attempt last fall. The military police report was well sealed, but the State Police needed background material on my two men's death. The reports were not as tightly sealed. There was a considerable amount of her blood at the hospital after the attempted capture. Since my men died in a car crash soon after, I don't have their report. We do know she was declared absent without leave last fall. Since then, there has been no more information."

"You said the military police and State Police were involved. Is my daughter imprisoned?"

"Not in New York. The Army's penal facilities in this country are in Kansas and Washington state. We thought she might be there. Getting government information is difficult."

"You haven't told me where she is."

"She had a frequent visitor, a doctor from New Jersey. We assume he was to be her facial surgeon. If we can find him, perhaps he knows where she is."

"So is she in New Jersey, not New York?"

"Or Kansas or Washington State. They may have more information but are keeping it very tight. We do know she has not returned to service. We have paid a great deal for the information we have so far."

"I've paid you a fortune already without results. Find my daughter immediately."

-0-

Ranger called the Core Team into the office. "Until we know the identity of the stalker in the parking lot, Malika is not safe. We don't have a free apartment here or else I'd suggest her moving. One of our safe houses will open up in three weeks. In the meantime, we need to roll patrols roll through the St. Jame's Street apartment parking lot several times a day, looking for a stalker. Also, I'm sending Hector over to give the apartment full security set up. Babe fought us on everything, and we never could get the place secure."

"Do you think grenades or Molotov cocktails are still a possibility?" Lester asked.

"No, I don't think her stalker wants to kill her. They want to kidnap her."

Bobby added, "I asked Malika if she wants a weapon. She indicated no. She has a stick by the front door."

"A stick? Like a shinai? That's it?"

"You forget, she's a Systema expert. Maybe she also knows Kendo."

"Any chance of getting her a handgun?"

"Bomber left her .38 behind. When Malika found it, she gave it to Lester. He offered to let her keep it, but she refused. Maybe with the stalker threat, she would reconsider."

"I doubt it. If she is anything like her father, she will go out of her way not to use it. Maybe when this is all over, she would teach Systema to our guys," Tank said.

Bobby shook his head no, "Not until her leg is ready. Perhaps there are some simple moves she could teach Stephanie. Not only would it be another tool in Bomber's rehabilitation, but also aid in her self confidence."

"Since you mentioned a defensive stick, are you thinking Stephanie could start carrying a baton?" Ranger asked, looking at Bobby.

"You are thinking of defensive weapons. I am thinking rehabilitation tool that might morph into a weapon later. Yes, a baton might be a good weapon for the future."

"If Malika agrees, I assume you'll want to sit in on the Systema classes," Ranger asked both Les and Tank.

Before Les could wipe the smile off his face and answer, Tank spoke, "I believe everyone here will want to watch at least and probably participate."

"Speaking as the medic," Bobby began, "Before we start talking Spetnaetz training, right now I'm looking at getting Bomber stronger, more limber."

Ranger nodded his head. He agreed. "If Stephanie agrees, when can she begin?"

"She already has. Malika was trying to teach her the breathing techniques, but Bomber doesn't know how it relates to self-defense and combat. I'll talk with Malika more to get more specifics, but I think Bomber could begin immediately. "

"Is Malika physically able to do the teaching?" Ranger asked.

"The orthopedic boot should come off in a couple of days. The jaw will be a bit longer, but neither should impact early training. Bomber is being obstinate about some of the rehab movements. She gets bored easily. Working with Malika may keep her motivated."

Ranger shook his head, "Her boredom and impulsiveness are what get her into trouble. We need to find a way to keep her and her mind active after rehab."

"She is Bomber, and this is Trenton. The more they interact, the more likely an incident will occur. It will be weeks if not months before she's ready for the field again. We have an opportunity to train her by calling it rehab," Bobby added.

"It's been my hope we could get her more involved in the corporate part of the business."

"We will lose her unless we, er, you deal with her physical needs," Lester said, wiggling his eyebrows.

Everyone knew what Les was alluding to, and it wasn't rehab exercises.

"Santos, mat 05:00," Ranger growled.

Ranger dismissed the meeting went back to his office and shut the door. He had a few private calls to make, but his head was throbbing. Before, he could understand why there was a pop and smell of Christmas cookies in the air. Knowing what happened and without looking up, he cursed quietly, "Fuck, not you, Diesel."

The muscular blonde Unmentionable chuckled, "Always happy to see you too, Ranger."

A heavy pounding began on the door. "You are closer, open the door," Ranger ordered.

As Diesel opened the door, Tank started in, "Intruder alert….oh shit, it's you." Looking back to Ranger, Tank asked, "Do you need me to remove the trash?"

Diesel laughed, "You could try."

Ranger shook his head no to Tank, "Do you need to talk to me privately?"

"You know, I do." Turning to Tank, Diesel smiled a bit too broadly, "Nice seeing you big guy, shut the door on your way out."

Once it was just the two of them in the office, Diesel began, "I'm needed elsewhere, so this will be quick. Malika is one of us, but untrained."

"She doesn't know she's an Unmentionable?" Ranger asked.

"No, and we haven't tested her, so we don't know her powers."

"Why?"

"Her father, her true genetic father, asked us not to. Revealing she is would put her in further danger from her step-father Babaev.

Ivan Rostov suspected Babev would send her to Turkmenistan and his tribe to make heirs, a shared hope for most men. The tribe is dying out. Having her and potential Unmentionable offspring in that area is dangerous. It is why Rostov stayed as Babaev's assistant. He needed to watch over his daughter, giving her a normal life instead of becoming a broodmare making Unmentionables in an unstable area of the world."

Ranger asked, "Rostov was an Unmentionable?"

"No, it was her mother. Her musical talent was beyond Mozart, Bach, Miles Davis, William Hung, The Beatles, Presley, and Dylan, but Babaev, a wretched jealous man, destroyed her works and ultimately destroyed her."

"What do you want from me?"

"Protect Malika."

Ranger scoffed, "Why can't you eliminate Babaev?"

"There is no immediate threat to Unmentionables. Our foreseers indicate the potential for an Unmentionable splinter group forming from her offspring in the 'Stans, but it's too nebulous. We don't assassinate because of future potential problems."

"Do you know where Babaev is?"

"Usually in Sochi, Russia. Even then, we aren't always sure. He has an untrained Unmentionable associate who believes he's an excellent security guard. What he doesn't know is when he is close to Babaev, he cloaks him to where even we can't find him."

"How many untrained are there?" Ranger asked, with exasperation.

"Many, but thankfully most don't know, and we don't test. Only those who show extraordinary ability early on are tested and trained."

Ranger finally sat down, "So if Babaev shows up…..?"

"Do what you think is best," Diesel shrugged not with indifference, but because he could offer no solution.

Ranger shook his head and uttered, "Fuck."

"With that happy note, I bid you adieu." POP!


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Bobby watched Bomber's reluctant entry into the gym for her first training session. She walked, protecting her injured leg, back, and shoulder. Noting Malika in the gym, Stephanie chuckled, "I see they wrangled you into here too."

Malika's smile warmly. She hoped to make Stephanie's gym time more enjoyable. Up to now, she has been acting like a brat, according to Bobby.

"Bomber, Malika is here as an instructor as well as a fellow rehab patient. Ranger wants her to teach you and eventually everyone here, Systema. Due to her physical limitations right now, we will start slow."

Stephanie looked unsure, "What about my limitations? I don't think I can do anything right now."

"You should be moving better than you are. It's time to increase your muscle and flexibility."

Stephanie almost whined, "But I'm still in pain."

It was the same story day after day. Stephanie was equating rehab with exercise, the Evil E, as she called it. "Malika is going to show you ways to deal with the pain." Bobby also wanted to say, "And improve your outlook." But pointing out Bomber's mental condition would see a return of rhino-mode. The psychologist wasn't getting through to her this time as he had in the past. Bobby looked at Malika. "Can you show her a few Systema moves without endangering your leg and jaw?"

Malika nodded.

"OK," Bobby started, "Realize I am not a Systema expert, so I can't describe in detail what you are seeing. But what I do know is System is built on three pillars: Breath control, Relaxation, Movement with Posture.

"Steph, one of the reasons you faint easily is you quit breathing when frightened or stressed.

The muscles freeze, your body is starved for oxygen, and ultimately you become light headed and even faint."

Stephanie appeared to be listening carefully. Her fainting was always a problem and an embarrassment. However, she didn't see how breathing would help with her pain.

Bobby continued, "Also, for injury rehabilitation, you need to fill you're your body with oxygen. I've noticed each time you experience pain, even a twinge, you tense up and go into shallow breathing. Malika is going to work with you to develop new breathing techniques that will help prevent fainting, but, more importantly, get more oxygen to your former injured area."

Stephanie was muttering, "Former? They still hurt." Bobby ignored her deliberately.

"Most of us breathe with little thought as to how much we are getting in our body. Let's start with little breaths. Steph, take in only enough oxygen to fill your nose."

"What?"

"Imagine only filling your nose with air, not the rest of the body, and then let it out."

Stephanie barely took a breath.

"Now take in only enough to fill the nose and imagine filling the brain. Concentrate on your head."

Steph took a little bigger breath.

"Now take in for the nose, brain, and neck. Then next breath to the stomach and finally, a breath that would send oxygen down to your toes."

When Steph had completed the exercise, Bobby explained, "The initial breathing, nose only, is often what we do when excited or fearful.

We don't correctly fill. Muscles elsewhere become starved for oxygen and start to tense up. On the other hand, did you notice when you over-extended your breathing, how tight your shoulder became? "

Stephanie took another deep breath and noticed how her shoulders rose. "Is that what you mean?"

"Yes, when you breathe, use your diaphragm, sometimes we say breathe from the stomach.

Do not overinflate or attempt to overinflate, or else your shoulders will tense. When you breathe, you should be as relaxed as possible. Another cause of tenseness is fear. If you breathe relaxed, the fear goes away. Muscle tenseness also inhibits oxygen flow through your muscles and body. It's more complicated than that, but one step at a time. So, proper breathing relaxes the body filling it with oxygen, eliminates fear, and aids in rehab."

"You are telling me by proper breathing I won't need to exercise?" Stephanie sounded incredulous.

Bobby chuckled, and Malika smiled. "Dream on Bomber."

Stephanie started breathing but was expelling through her nose.

"Steph, intake through the nose feeds the muscles, exhaling through the mouth clears the body. Socially we are discouraged from blowing out through our mouths, whether it is to hide bad breath or the noise bothers others. With practice, you can learn to exhale through the mouth, discretely."

Bobby watched Stephanie try to be quiet by barely separating her lips. When she allowed her body to naturally empty instead of forcing the air out, she was silent.

Bobby, the instruction, began again, "When we are frightened or concentrating on a task, we often stop breathing. Holding your breath is only a good idea when you are underwater. We need to keep the working muscles oxygenated through the movement. Watch Malika."

Malika got down to the ground, Bobby continued, "Malika is going to do a single, prolonged movement with one breath. Most of us would breathe once and hold our breath through the movement, starving our body for oxygen."

With her hands behind her head, Malika did a single sit-up, slowly while taking in air. Bobby slowly counted to thirty. Once upright, she blew out, and started back down, taking in air with a single breath, again to a thirty count.

"No matter the muscle load, or threat, your body needs to be taking in oxygen." Looking around the gym for a helper, Bobby saw Hector. Calling Hector over, he introduced Malika. "We need an attacker, but keep it simple as Malika's leg and jaw aren't fully operational yet." Turning back to Stephanie, Bobby explained, next is a demonstration of taking in oxygen while countering a threat."

Hector looked to Malika and nodded. With lightning speed, Hector grabbed Malika's wrist, and equally as fast, Malika pivoted, raised the captured arm over her head, and was free. Next, Hector grabber her wrist and arm just below the elbow in an attempt to pin her arm behind her back.

She, in return, seemed to melt out of the grab and twist Hector around, forcing him to let loose. Again Hector grabbed both wrists, and Malika simply raised her hands forcefully, bringing Hector's hands together at the thumb joint, causing instant pain.

Hector let go. Malika quickly overcame each new attack. Hector stepped back and chuckled, "_Estás _hecho_ de _goma_._" (You are rubber.)

"Bomber, you may have paid more attention to the movements, not her breathing. During the entire exercise, she never held her breath.

"No matter the convoluted hold Hector put on her, no matter the discomfort, she continued breathing and keeping her body relaxed. Hector said she is made from rubber. By remaining flexible with no tension, your opponent will be less likely to contain you. Plus, by keeping your muscles oxygenated, your body is ready to mount an offensive when necessary."

Malika looked at Steph and signed, "Watch simple move." Then standing back and wiggling her left hand, indicating Hector grab her hand. As he grabbed her, she swung her arm backward, forcing Hector off balance. With a simple shove with her free hand to Hector's hip, he fell.

Malika flashed signs to Bobby, who translated, "System stresses nonviolent defense. Wear the attacker down through repeated defensive moves until they either give up or are so tired, you can overcome them. Hector expended more energy lunging, grabbing and then climbing back to his feet than she did with an arm swing and tap."

"Is that what she did to my mother?"

"Exactly, except Malika didn't want to hurt your mother, so guided her to the ground."

Malika fashed a sign to Tank across the room. The big man walked over, "OK, I'll be your guinea pig."

Malika winked, flashed Tank instructions, and then laid down on her back.

Tank walked around Malika's prone form. Then while standing by her head, he leaned over and fell to the side. Somewhat confused, he got, straddled her by placing his feet beside her hips and quickly reached down to hold her down. Once again, he immediately fell to the floor.

"What the hell?" the big man gasped.

Bobby smiled, "As with Hector, when Tank leaned over, he became unbalanced, and Malika further unbalanced him."

"How, she never moved."

"Through muscle control, she relaxed her one shoulder, rotated it slightly, to throw Tank's balance off."

"She can rotate her shoulder that much?"

"Tank, twist her arm, but keep it straight, for now, don't bend it," Bobby instructed.

Malika was already on her feet. Tank grabbed her lower arm and twisted her arm slowly until her hand was backward. When she began to show discomfort by standing on her toes, he stopped. Malika started a series of short breaths and wiggling her shoulder. Suddenly she stopped and smiled, showing no pain, but Tank had not released her arm.

"I don't get it," Stephanie stated.

"Several things here. First, Malika's tendons are incredibly flexible with exercise. She relaxed her shoulder muscles to where she was no longer afraid of having her arm broken or dislocated. She achieved this with cyclic burst breathing, quickly forcing air in, relaxing and reducing her anxiety and pain."

After tapping Tank to let her go, she asked him to put her into another hold.

"You sure? I might break your finger," he warned.

After assuring Tank it was alright, he quickly bent her finger backward. She reacted as expected, showing pain by again rising onto her toes. After several moments of cyclic burst breathing, she appeared no longer in pain and passive.

Suddenly, though, her other hand came around and grabbed a spot on Tank's neck him to pass out and fall.

Bobby stood momentarily marveling how quickly and smoothly Malika had found the carotid and instantly stunning Tank. "Stephanie, the key to what you witnessed was the cyclic burst breathing. She overcame her fear of injury and the actual pain with quickly filling and expelling air, in a sense revving up her anti-fear and pain cyclic breathing and muscle relaxation. The tap on Tank was just showing off."

Malika reached out and hugged Tank as if asking him to forgive her for picking on him. He whispered something in her ear, causing her to smile.

Stephanie sat and thought a while. How often has she panicked when someone grabbed her? From Joe to her skips, did the fear of being injured or the discomfort control determine why she could not mount a defense? Maybe this also applied to social situations such as Burg gossipers or her mother's tirades. She was so busy worrying what others might think she would tense, unable to react. Hadn't she dealt with Grandma Bella in the market months ago? How had she been able to respond then? Relaying the incident, she realized she had remained calm, realizing the lady's words were irrelevant and useless. Bella's powers came through fear.

By blocking the fear, there was no power. While she pondered, Malika came to stand beside Bobby, waiting for Stephanie to notice they were ready to continue.

"Stephanie, you need to clear your mind and get back to our instruction. Walk around the gym for the next 15 minutes, practicing breathing, nose in, mouth out. Remain relaxed, not overfill. Then start extending the breaths, two counts, three counts, and so on as we watched in the sit-up demonstration."

When she returned after her walk, Bobby was again the emcee. "Steph, we are moving on to fear breathing. Breathe in, exhale, and hold your breath until you feel tension or tightening. Note where it is and resume normal breathing."

"I feel something in my chest," Steph said.

"Good, as you hold your breath again and begin to fell the tension, wiggle your shoulders to relax the upper chest to relax the area. You should enable you to hold your breath longer."

"Huh?" None of that made sense to Steph.

"Scenario time, Steph. You find yourself with a gun in your face. The old Steph would freeze and be taken captive. The new Steph will remain calm by proper breathing and keeping the body relaxed with little movements exercising the whole body to keep it from freezing. The relaxed body can then react."

Stephanie's mind flashed back to times Ranger or other Rangemen found themselves at a weapon's end but didn't cringe in fear. They were relaxed and, when the opportunity arose, reacted swiftly. "So, I'm to dance a jig while someone is threatening to shoot me?"

Bobby had a small smile. The mental image was amusing if not the outcome. "In the future, Malika will teach you how to relax muscles with little or no movement, or jig as you called it. Right now, we'll jig."

Malika and Steph worked together, relaxing and tensing various muscles in the body without tensing others. As she worked on specific areas while keeping the others loose, she noticed how relaxed she was. When Malika had her stand and work her muscles, then slowly walk around the gym flexing and releasing while keeping proper breathing, her gait was changing. She admired the way Ranger walked so loosely, now she understood. Tank, for his size, seemed to float quietly. Was this the reason? They were using only the muscles necessary for the movement while keeping the rest of the body relaxed.

"That's all for today, Steph. Same Time tomorrow."

Stephanie wasn't sweaty as she usually was after her rehab sessions, and she felt far better.

Quickly changing into her Rangeman uniform, she went to her cubicle to run searches and look over new client information. "Damn Rodgriguez, doesn't he have anything better to do than dump all his work on me?"

Forcing herself to examine how she was breathing, she found she was more comfortable in her chair than usual. Was part of her inability to sit still for long periods, due to her unconsciously tensing her body? She tried relaxing as much as possible. Usually, when her butt was numb, or she mind flummoxed with a search, she chewed on her pens or went in search of TastyKakes. Maybe relaxing was better.

Her eyes quickly snapped open. She had a clue! Glancing at the clock, she had spent 30 seconds. How long would she have spun or chewed on her pen, tapped her foot or fingers, played with her curls before? How often did she fail at surveillance because, after ten minutes, she was bored? Maybe there was something to this relaxing and breathing after all.

Reaching for her inbox to start another search, she found it empty. She had torn through the searches in record time. Knocking on Tank's office door, she waited for his permission to enter. Hearing his gruff voice, she came with a smile, "I've finished the searches, do you have something else for me to do?"

He looked up and said, "Bless you, my child. Would you complete these for me?" Handing her a stack of papers. She looked at the familiar forms, "We really must computerize these."

Tipping his head towards Ranger's office, "He has old ways. I've tried. It is your turn to bring him into the 21st century."

Flipping through more pages, Stephanie asked, "Do you want me to set up a format to bring the caveman's mind into the light?"

Unlike Ranger, Tank smiled his bright white, full tooth smile. It was his answer. As she left, he shook his head, wondering how to get her to give up skip chasing, and become a part of the management team.

Practicing her relaxing, standing a wiggling to loosen her abdomen, she continued working until Ranger came and got her at 5 pm. "Babe, it is time to quit."

"What? I've been here working since gym time."

"Didn't your beast remind you to eat?" Ranger asked.

"No, it's been quiet all day. That's not normal." She wondered if the lack of noise had anything to do with her relaxing exercises. "I missed my range time with Ram!"

"He was called out on an emergency. No foul. You can make it up tomorrow. Now come, let's eat dinner. I'm hungry, even if you aren't."

-0-

Shortly after 08:00 the next day, Ram found Steph and invited her to the range. "Time for your lessons, Bomber. Sorry I was away yesterday."

She silently mumbled, "I'm not," but spoke, "I got busy myself."

Once inside the gun range, Ram went to the gun safes, went through the complicated process to enter the security codes, and use the keys to open up the bins. "I received several new handguns, and I want you to try them out. They are better suited to women's hands."

He had six different semiautomatic handguns on the table. "These Sig Saurs and Glocks are better sized for your hand. The difference will be in balance and ammunition carrying capacity. The more ammunition, the heavier the piece. Let's see how each suits you."

Immediately Steph began to tense. She hated guns. Remembering her breathing instruction, and she tried all handguns. Ram watched, fascinated she was not going through her normal facial grimaces. Except when he raised one larger handgun and winced, grabbing her shoulder. Immediately she went to a more rapid cyclic burst breathing, slightly wiggled her shoulder, and seemed to be pain-free. "This one is too heavy, right now," she said as she set it back down on the bench.

After an hour of learning about each weapon, firing, disassembling, and cleaning each, Steph was leaning towards a medium weight weapon for hip-carry but still didn't have a favorite. Ram was understanding and grateful she was careful in her selections. He agreed to get search for several more options. She was due in the gym at 10:30 and had to hustle and broke into a little jog. Whoa!

Stephanie Plum did not jog. What was happening?

-0-

"Good morning, Bomber!" Bobby smiled.

"We have new games today."

"Oh, great," she mumbled. "Yesterday it was breathing, wiggling and walking. What is today?"

"Crawling," Bobby smiled. "You are not strong enough yet for more strenuous exercises. We are going back to your beginning. Baby's build muscle and neuropathways by crawling before they can walk. With injuries, we block pathways for fear of creating pain. Now that we have the breathing technique for reducing tension and pain, it's time to get coordinated again."

Once Steph was on her back on the gym floor, Bobby said, "Without out getting up, ooze your way across the floor for 12 feet. Like an amoeba tense and relax portions of your body to create friction on the ground to move forward. Do this slowly, concentrate on not creating tension areas. Let the muscles do the work and let them relax. Of course, breathe correctly."

Malika got on the floor and oozed alongside her. When Stephanie had gone 12 feet on her back and belly, Bobby stopped her. "Relax and breathe, nose to toes." Malika got to her...foot. She stood using just one leg as she held the orthopedic boot off the ground. Stephanie mumbled, "Show off..."

After a few minutes, Bobby asked, "How do you feel?"

"Relaxed."

"Now that your muscles are warmed up, we are going to put you into a tense situation. As you begin to tense up, notice your tension points, breathe and wiggle," he smiled.

Before Stephanie could understand what he said, Malika did some fancy signs, and several Rangemen came forward. When several Rangeman responded to Malika's invitation, before Bobby could give directions, Malika laid down, face down.

"OK, guys pile on, dogpile," Bobby said. The rest of the Rangemen stacked on top of her. Stephanie cringed, assuredly Malika could be crushed under all that weight.

"Bomber, look at how Malika is breathing. She is rapid cyclic burst breathing to enhance oxygen and to relax. Gradually her breathing slowed down.

"Remember the finger grab Tank put her into yesterday? She was rapidly cyclic breathing to relax." Before Bobby could finish his explanation, Malika was smiling.

"How long do you think it will take Malika to get out from underneath the pile?"

"Quite a while if she doesn't suffocate first."

"Malika."

Within seconds the pile was moving, and not long after, the collection disintegrated. The men fell away. Malika wiggled free.

"She isn't strong enough to move all the weight that was on top of her, but she started by moving whatever she could, remaining calm and without tension, changing the structure and angles within the pile with small movements until it became unstable. Let's try with you."

"Ah, I'm afraid I'll get hurt."

"It will be just Malika and me. We understand about your healing injuries."

When she was covered, she began to panic. Ramon squatted down in front of her, "Breathe and relax, don't tense. Move something, anything."

"I can't."

"Breathe Bomber. Yes, you can, there's always something even if it is your toe. From there, you can push up, down, or to the side."

In time she was moving and eventually unbalanced Malika and Bobby and was able to roll away. When she emerged, she was smiling, "I did it!"

"Pile-on is human Jenga except here we are trying to collapse the pile. Not only was it fun, we learn how not to panic, move our bodies, and a little something about physics. The physical play also helped our mental health. Today's kids don't move from in front of the television or computer screen. They don't learn how to relax through physical movement. So they turn to drugs, alcohol, food, or other addictions for physical relaxation."

"So how does this help me?" Steph asked.

"I'm surprised you need to ask," Bobby said. "Doughnuts, ice cream, TastyKakes…need I go on? Your drug of choice is sugar. If you had alternatives to relieving stress, your need for sugar would drop to near zero."

Stephanie was pissed and wanted to argue with Bobby, but a twinge in her shoulder reminded her, she was tensing up. Her breathing was getting short and unfulfilling. How to relax? Breathe, wiggle, walk. She walked off for a bit and came back. She was surprised to see Malika had several sticks on the floor in front of her. One was a twirling baton. She flashed back to the incident with her baton and the highschool band tuba section and began to blush.

Bobby began, "Bomber, you and Malika are going to teach each other how to work with sticks. You will teach Malika how to twirl, and she will work with you on a little martial arts stick defense."

Malika went to the longer stick and picked it up and held it in an attack position.

Bobby said, "Stick-fighting is common in many different martial arts. She is holding a shinai used in Japanese Kendo. Kendo stresses body posture, striking specific areas. You two will work in slow motion as we don't have the full protective gear to prevent injury. We have guards for the arms and legs only. We don't expect you to become proficient in Kendo, but the movements will help with your back and arms."

"I'm no Bruce Lee," Steph tried to counter.

"He wasn't a Kendo master. The stick is both a defensive and offensive weapon. Here we will stress the defensive aspects. The goal is not to beat the crap out of your opponent but to discourage their continued attack."

"Is this exercise?"

"Did I use the E word? These are movements to loosen your body. Plus, whacking each other is a good stress reliever, something like Ranger beating the bag when he's upset."

"You are pushing this stress issue."

"Yep, it is the basis of many of your problems. Getting you to relax will lessen most of your mental issues."

Hearing mental, Stephanie started to tense up. Was Bobby saying she was becoming mentally unbalanced like her mother?

Bobby read her eyes, "Whoa! Breathe, Bomber, relax. I'm not talking about those mental issues. I'm talking about self-doubt, going into what you call your rhino mode, and so on."

Stephanie muttered, "First doughnuts, now rhino mode. What else is he going to complain about?"

Picking up the batons, he tossed one to Stephanie and one to Malika. Let's start with these batons to warm up your arms."

It had been years since Stephanie held a baton, but the twirling action came back quickly. Being an instructor gave Stephanie's self-confidence a boost. In trying to teach Malika baton twirlers' side circles, swoops, stir the soup, and chicken elbow Stephanie didn't realize she was also exercising her own body, especially the muscles around her arms, shoulders and upper body. When she felt a pinch in her shoulder, she burst breathed and concentrated on relaxing the hurt area.

Malika wasn't as accomplished at Stephanie, slowing down the instruction. After dropping the baton repeatedly, Malika signed it was time to try something different. Picking up the shinai, she went into an attack pose.

Stephanie joined, and they spent 40 minutes whacking each other's padded arms and legs.

When Bobby called a halt and had Stephanie sit and rest, and of course, breathe, Malika picked up a shorter stick about 48 inches long.

"Bomber, watch how effective a simple stick can be." In an instant, he turned and ran towards Malika. Instantly he was on the floor.

"What did you see, Bomber?"

"She tripped you with the stick."

"Why didn't she try to hit me?"

Stephanie thought a minute, "That's what you were expecting. People use sticks to hit. Or maybe you would have grabbed it or avoided it." She wasn't sure.

"Not quite. Malika could have whacked me, but it would only temporarily stun me, and I might not even stop moving. It might have escalated my ager. By tripping me stopped the attack."

"But, you would get up and attack again..."

"And she would have deflected my attack in another manner."

Picking up a club, Bobby once again attempted to attack Malika. This time she deflected the club and, using her braced foot, unbalanced him to where he fell. When Bobby got up, he said, "She would continue to diffuse the situation with the least possible energy expenditure until I gave up, or she would disable me."

"Or until you pulled a gun or knife."

"Speaking of a knife, let's so some more demonstrations. We will cover all this more in-depth over the coming months."

"Months?" Stephanie squealed.

"As a Rangeman employee, you are expected to exercise and train. Or would you rather go back to the treadmill and weights with hand to hand instruction?"

Stephanie paused, was she still and employee? Would she be expected to move back to her apartment when she returned to work? Where was she in her emotional and personal relationships?

Bobby waited for Stephanie to look back at him. Her mind went for a journey, but he didn't know where. Waving to Hector, Bobby turned to Malika, "Hector's favorite weapon is a blade. Would you like to go against him?"

Malika pointed to her jaw and leg and signed "caution." Hector nodded. He still understood the restrictions. Then pointing to the training knife, she indicated this would be the only one used as it was not sharp. Hector nodded again. Malika looked at Hector and gave him the "give it to me" hand gesture. He didn't understand. She signed again, "Your knife, or we do this naked."

Bobby translated, questioning the last word, "_Naked?"_

Hector smiled and reached into his gym shorts and pulled out a small spring-loaded knife.

Stephanie shook her head, "I won't ask how you knew it was wherever it was."

Malika tossed the training knife to Hector and gave him the come along sign. In an instant, Hector was on his butt, and the blade was at his neck, not hers. Hector countered instantly, putting Malika on her back, but before he could gain control, she rolled and had the knife again at his throat. He smiled. This woman knew her stuff.

"Hector, for training purposes, slow your attacks down so others can see the defensive actions. Also, keep them basic. You and Malika can work on your fancier moves later."

Hector nodded. Time and again, Hector tried to attack, and Malika deflected his arm and took the knife away from him.

Malika flashed signs, and Bobby translated for Stephanie, "Full speed."

In one stunning move, Malika deflected, rolled to her defensive stick, picked it up, and was on her feet as Hector came after her again. With a flick of her wrist, the knife sailed upwards out of Hector's hand.

He mistakenly watched the blade.

Malika used the stick to tap behind his knee, putting him on his back. Malika caught the knife before it reached the ground and jumped on his chest once again, endangering Hector's throat.

Hector smiled.

He came quickly with arm swipes as he regained his feet. As Malika deflected the armed hand and spun him around, he side-kicked towards her arm.

Deflecting the kick, she spun, placing her leg between Hectors and forced him to the ground and again endangering his throat. Hector laughed out loud and indicated he was beaten. Hector stood and kissed Malika's cheek.

Ranger was standing next to Tank well away from the action. Quietly he whispered, "She stays." What he did not say but thought was her skills were higher than anyone he had seen, even his. What did Diesel say? "She has unknown talents."

Malkia went to Stephanie and handed her the knife. Bobby explained, "This is a training knife.

There is no sharp edge or point. She wants to set the scenario of two people walking past one another. Try to stab her."

"Don't throw me to the floor," Steph pleaded.

Malika flashed, "Not, thrown, unbalanced. They fell."

"Still, I don't want to be on the floor."

As Stephanie and Malika walked toward another and Stephanie tried to stab her, Malika quickly moved a small part of her body to avoid the blade and continued walking, never touching Stephanie. The defense was so smooth. Stephanie stood with the knife in her hand with a bewildered look on her face.

"Again, Bomber."

The next time as Stephanie walked by and attempted to stab her, Malika just kept on walking without turning. Stephanie looked down at her hand and noticed the knife was gone, but it wasn't in Malika's hands either.

"Where did it go?"

Malika raised her hands to indicate it wasn't in her hands.

Hector was chuckling as he came up to Malika. Reaching around to her back, he pulled the knife from her waistband.

"I can't wait to show what I'm learning to my fugitives," Stephanie gleamed.

Malkia suddenly stood straight and held up her hands in a "halt" position and glanced at Bobby for an interpreter. She needed her voice right now. With hands flying, she began to realign Stephanie's thinking.

"Do not put your heart or your emotions into your work. The desire to show off increases your expectations and leads to disappointment. Without emotions, everything becomes simple, a job to be completed. You do not do something for glory or to show how good you are."

Stephanie was stunned. Did these words apply to her life? Was she a bounty hunter for the recognition? Was she using it to show up the Burg?

Lester had been standing away from the instruction but came and sat next to Stephanie. "When you let your emotions rule in this work, you will get seriously injured or dead. Do not seek recognition or rewards and ignore criticism except your instructors."

"People like my mother, Joe, and the Burg?"

"They should never have meant anything to you, but you waved your job like a red flag to a fighting bull. "Here, look at me!"

"I did not!"

"Beautiful, each time you came to TPD covered in stuff, you caught their attention. All Rangemen carry a change of clothes, at least a shirt. Why didn't you slip on something clean, zip on a jacket, something to hide the mess? Your hair was often astray, where was your hat? Would it have taken more than 10 seconds to wipe your face and hands? To you, the mess was like a badge of honor, to the rest is was clown paint. You let Joe harangue you, why didn't you turn and walk away? You keep going to the same stores and restaurants where people do the most gossip. Why? Were you holding court? Before your kidnapping, you were doing so well in finding the strong Stephanie. But you've slipped way back. Why?"

"I was hurt."

"No Steph, it is more than that. I hope Malika and our Rangeman psychologist can help you break through this new barrier." With that, he kissed her and went to the showers.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

The late morning traffic from Philadelphia north to Trenton was moving slightly faster than the near gridlock moving south. The suggested speed limit was a wishful dream. Bobby and Malika were returning to Trenton after another visit with her facial surgeon. The wires in her mouth were gone, and the screws holding the plates were not showing inflammation. Her jaw barely moved, but with exercise, she would regain nearly full motion. All that would be left was her voice returning.

Of her other injuries, her ear retained its scars, but longer hair hid most damaged. The body weight still wasn't back to normal, but with the wires gone, eating solid food would become possible. Weight would come back.

"No more Metal Mouth," Bobby quipped. He pulled her close and kissed her, forcing his tongue to her teeth, begging for entry.

After attempting to opening her mouth wider, she pushed him back and signed, "More exercises. Not here."

Bobby looked around the clinic's treatment room and agreed. "Let's go to the car and make out like teenagers." Malika smiled broadly, and they left the clinic holding hands.

Bobby wasn't kidding. After both here in their seats, he pulled her across the console, placed his hand above her jaw and whispered, "Let's keep practicing." While he gently massaged her temporomandibular joints, jaw joints, they worked on creating a mouth opening large enough for tongue tips. Malika was able to extend her tongue out enough to meet Bobby's. After the two muscles met, Malika started silently laughing. Bobby pulled back with a puzzled look. Malika signed, "Just the tip."

"My dear," Bobby said pseudo-sternly, "You are going to have to accept more than the tip soon. I won't be satisfied without full penetration."

Malika felt in innuendo down to her thighs. Sitting back, she waved her hand, fan style mimicking cooling off.

Bobby was nearly the Delaware river bridge when his phone murmured. Picking it up, he listened. "Yes, she's with me," he spoke." After disconnecting, he sped up as much as possible, considering the traffic.

"Shooting. Our guys are down." Instantly he went into combat mode. He glanced at her, "Can you assist? I have an extra medical bag."

Malika nodded.

It had been a while since Malika had been in a combat situation, but her training kicked in. Like an old fire horse hearing the bell, she was ready to roll once again. Arriving at the warehouse, they noted Ranger, Tank, and several others were already outfitted in protective gear and preparing to enter the building. Bobby reached under the seat and unlocked a box. Pulling out a .45 cal Glock and a full clip, he handed both to Malika.

Unlike Stephanie, who would try to void taking it, the Air Force-trained surgeon safety checked her weapon before inserting the magazine and pulling back the slide. Since Glocks don't have safeties, she simply tucked the gun under her belt. Bobby was relieved by her weapon surety, unlike Stephanie, who would be shaking in fear. Going to the SUV's rear door and opening several storage compartments, he pulled out two ballistic vests, helmets, and two medical packs.

After both suited up, helping each other with the straps. Bobby handed her the second medical bag and said, "Wait here for my clear call." Immediately Bobby disappeared into the building. It wasn't long before she heard him call "clear." Instantly she was through the door and assessing the scene.

Bobby pointed to the injured gang members. Knowing not to turn her back on any of the "enemies," she was prepared when one of the wounded gang members drew a knife missed in the initial frisking. Before he could catch Malika's leg, she had her foot on the victim's arm before reaching over and bending his hand 90 degrees to relieve him of his weapon. She instantly flipped him on his face and did a more thorough pat-down as she held him down with her knee. Manny was immediately by her side to assist.

"Nice move, Doc."

She then returned to evaluating the other injured gang members, giving each a quick but thorough pat-down for any additional weapons. Two were critical with abdominal or chest wounds. They required immediate treatment. Three had leg or arm wounds but had already been separated from the others and were being guarded by Rangemen until she or Bobby could get to them. As she worked, she noted the paramedics coming in and watched Bobby signal the patients' trauma. He then looked to Mikala. She stuck two fingers up, indicating critical, three to the side signifying stable, and one thumb down, dead. She did not need to work on the one with no heartbeat. A large section of the heart decorated the wall behind him. Emergency personnel moved to stabilize the most critical while she continued to those with less severe wounds. As more emergency personnel arrived, the victims and injured Rangemen went to area hospitals.

Once the ambulances pulled away, Malika pulled off her gloves tossing them into the medical waste on the floor. Contract cleaning companies would handle the mess. She was repacking her medical bag when Tank came up from behind and quietly said, "I'll take your weapon" and slipped it from her belt. "No use getting Detective Morelli all upset."

It wasn't long before the very same Morelli appeared. He was surprised to see the woman who refused to speak to him from Pino's. "What are you doing here?"

Malika removed her helmet and pointed to a Red Cross on the medical bag as if to say "giving first aid." Did he think she usually wore a ballistic vest and helmet as daily wear?

"Do you work with these thugs? You aren't in their uniform."

She raised both eyebrows indicating," Say what?"

Joe misinterpreted her expression as a surprise, not disdain. "Yeah, they are nothing but thugs from Jersey penal. They should still be locked up."

Malika considered several rude hand gestures but contained herself. Bobby stepped up. "Detective Morelli, this is U.S. Air Force flight surgeon Major… Burns. The doctor and I were returning from …the VA hospital when I received orders to report here. She offered to help after the site was secure." With that, he took her arm," Major, join me. We need to get to the hospital to check on my guys."

"Hey, I need her statement," Joe protested.

Bobby barely turned around to answer, "She'll stop by the station or email her statement this afternoon, Detective Morelli."

Once outside, Malika signed, "You almost blew my cover."

"I know, I caught myself just in time."

At the hospital, Dr. Malika remained incognito, sitting in the waiting area with other Rangemen worried about their comrades. Hal stood, "Major, sit here."

She quickly signed, "Alias."

He nodded an apology.

She sat and shut her eyes for a moment. When she woke up, she was covered in a Rangeman jacket and leaning on Hal. Bobby was touching her shoulder. "You should go back to Haywood to sleep. I would appreciate you filling in for me at the clinic when I send guys back. I'm staying for a while."

She signed "Status."

"We got lucky. Every one of our guys will recover. Eric is in surgery now. He will need to stay here for a few days."

She nodded, stood, and left with Hal. Their first stop was her apartment, where she could shower and change clothes and shoes. Quickly grabbing her to to-go pack, they left for Haywood Street. Once back in the clinic, she went through each injured man's medical records looking for allergies or drug interactions. She also made several cards with simple questions.

Most Rangemen could sign, but the pain meds might make them dizzy. Hal and Raphael worked with her to make sure they were secure in their apartment and their pain meds. Malika visited each letting them know she would be checking on them until Bobby returned.

The first patient was Cal. He blushed to where his forehead skull tattoo glowed. He was not used to a lady medic. Malika started to shuffle through her cards, then remembered Cal could sign. "I'm a military doctor. Male patients are common."

Cal continued to blush and held up two fingers and tipped his head towards the bathroom.

Ah-ha! Now she understood. "Do you need support?" she signed.

He shook his head no and signed. He was without clothes.

"I hear, not speak," she signed back. Cal mumbled, "Sorry."

Cal returned to his living room couch, wearing boxer shorts for modesty. She took his vitals. When finished, the doctor found sandwich ingredients, an apple, and several bottles of water. Cal mumbled he wasn't hungry.

She quickly signed, "Pills require food. Small bites. Drink often." She then pulled out a portable male urinal from her bag. It would save Cal a trip or two. He tattoo glowed again from blushing. She found it endearing these big men blushed easily. The worst was Hal, but then his skin color was as light as Stephanie's.

She smiled and signed, "Wish I use no hose."

Cal tried to chuckle.

Noting his cell phone was handy, she signed, "Call me pain bad. I have ears."

He nodded and grabbed a blanket and the TV remote, dismissing the doctor.

She made a quick sign, "Breathe."

"I'm breathing," he said

She shook her head no and then demonstrated the way to oxygenate your body without tensing muscles fully. "Healing oxygen, relaxed body."

"I understand," Cal replied.

Several other patients required her handmade cards to communicate. Most just wanted to sleep. She made sure their phones were within reach before she left, stacking snacks, water, and the portable urinal on the table. Every few hours she checked on them, most were asleep.

It took several days for all the injured Rangemen to be released from the hospital and return to Haywood Street. Bobby took over the in-room treatment while those who could get up and walk around went to the clinic to have Malika change their bandages. The men grew more comfortable with her. Technically she wasn't a licensed New Jersey medical provider. Still, nobody said a word, especially when she reminded them she was miliary by wearing her Air Force ABU blue pants with a doctor's coat.

-0-

When Bobby had a day free, he proposed, "How about a dinner date? I'm in the mood for Italian."

Dinner was away from the Burg. Vidalia's was in Lawrence near Quaker Bridge Mall. Her eyes twinkled at the thought of a crunchy salad and crusty bread, but the reality was a bitch. Her mouth would only allow small bites of salmon with Pasta Alfredo on the side. Yes, it was against tradition to mix milk with fish, but she could care less. Hunger and mouth mobility were the deciding factors.

"Stephanie's favorite dish," he chuckled. "You know what they say about Pasta Alfredo, don't you? It should always be served with a cardiologist on the side," Bobby smiled.

"Still going for my heart?" she signed. She had dreamed about her first meal after having the jaw unwired. Fresh fruits and raw vegetables, unpureed, rated right along with side corn chips, popcorn, and nuts.

While it was too early for a cold, crisp apple, this meal was about perfect. Using a fork instead of straw was the major plus. Then again, perhaps it was her dinner companion and the entirely typical meal.

"Does Madame want dessert?" Bobby asked quietly.

Malika had her share of ice cream with the milkshakes she had been drinking, plus the Alfredo was rich enough. She wistfully shook her head no.

-0-

The Air Force was getting ready to release her from service due to her vocal chord paralysis.

She was less than two years short of twenty years' service and a pension. She appealed, in writing that she was still a doctor and could do medical paperwork or other jobs that didn't require speaking until her voice returned. Eventually, the military rescinded their decision and assigned her to an off-base medical facility outside of Joint Base McGuire Dix to do patient reviews.

Several weeks later, Malika stood on the scale in the Rangeman clinic as she waited for Bobby to finish cleaning the clinic. Finally, she was above 120 pounds. Eating solid food and exercise had allowed her to start putting on muscle. She'd be at her "combat" weight with seven pounds. Then would be her civilian weight. When discovered in the mountains, her weight was barely 90 pounds. She had lost a third of her body weight while stranded in the Adirondack wilderness for months. Seeing the number read 120.7, she mouthed a YEA! A discernable squeak crept out. Bobby's head snapped around, "Did you say something?"

Trying again, a "yea" squeezed out. It was the first sound beyond blown air she had made in months.

Without thinking, Bobby wrapped his arms around her. "Finally," he said softly and kissed her temple. She was surprised Bobby was as emotional as she. Often he kidded he enjoyed a "seen, but not heard" woman. The long rehab for her was hard on him, as well.

She shuddered as if trying to hold back tears. Perhaps she could finally put Albany behind her and move on, hopefully with Bobby.

He had become more than her rescuer, at first a friend, but quickly became a love interest.

Pulling her chin up, he began kissing her first on her forehead then worked his way down to her mouth and neck. He pulled her close, sharing body heat, which, in turn, positively affected both of them. His arousal was obvious.

As he released, he said, "Would you go for a walk with me?"

She had a puzzled look on her face. A walk wasn't exactly what her body was craving and judging from Bobby's growing groin area, on him as well. However, he was on duty, and the clinic door was open. It would be just like Lester to pass by, observe them, and then report their activity to the entire fifth floor.

"Would 17:00 be OK?" he asked.

She nodded and, after kissing him again, left the office to spend time in the gym or, more likely, take a cold shower. If someone asked her for a Systema lesson, she could work off her frustration. Otherwise, cardio or yoga would have to do until Bobby was available. She had her locker for workout clothes but didn't need a separate dressing room. Military life had reduced her modesty and taught her how to dress quickly and without flashing anything private, though she did save showering for Bobby's apartment.

The drive to Washington State Park took them west from Trenton along the Delaware River. In the parking lot, Bobby asked,

"Can you walk a couple of miles?"

She nodded, yes. Her gym workout was tiring, but she still had a few miles left in her. As they walked along the trail, they held hands. She was enjoying being away from the city though it was only a hundred yards or so back to man's world. Bobby's head often swung side to side. She didn't think he was looking for Hessian ghosts ready to ambush General Washinton, but he was more likely looking for her stalker. She tried to push the thought from her mind as he named the trees and some of the plants. Malika looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Boy Scouts?"

He chuckled, "Not in my neighborhood growing up. The camp is just on the other side of the river from here. I was the camp medic and first aid instructor."

When they got to the overlook, Bobby pulled her close, "As crazy as my life can get, I find coming here and just watching the river roll past has a calming effect. Thank you for joining me." He turned and pulled her into another embrace and kiss. They found a bench and sat watching the sunset. As the sun kissed the horizon, they returned to the car, never releasing their hands. Both of their bodies vibrated with desire, but Malika signed, "Tonight dinner no sex."

Bobby's eyes flashed confusion, but before he could say anything, Malika signed, "Tortoise and hare."

He understood, the slower tortoise won the race. He smiled, "My hormones are the hare, but my heart is the tortoise."

She made a sound that slightly sounded like a laugh and signed, "Still the cardiologist."

He pulled her close, "Yes, and I plan on doing a slow, thorough examination on your heart soon."

-0-

The Systema classes for Stephanie continued, and all were excited at her progress. Stephanie had always been a scraper but had no skills beyond the knee to the groin, which varied in effectiveness based on the target's height and weight. Having an instructor who was smaller than her, who could whip the socks off the larger Rangeman filled Steph with confidence that someday she too could be proficient. The Rangemen were becoming more aggressive as Stephanie's improved. Knife attacks still scared the shit out of her, whereas a gun was less threatening. Malika assured her fear was justified. Knife attacks were close-in, but a handgun, even in skilled hands, lost their effectiveness beyond six feet, especially if the victim remained moving.

In one memorable class demonstration, Malika dispelled Stephanie's belief being a woman put her at a disadvantage. Malika fought off five large, armed, Rangeman attackers while others, including Stephanie, stood watching with mouths open. In one spectacular move, she rolled forward as an attacker tried to hit her face. The roll caught Hal, Halosaurus, at the perfect spot and, like a steam roller, took him down. Zip, the best gymnast at Rangeman, simply said, "I never thought of doing that."

Malika stood and spoke softly as her voice was still tender, "Sambo. Russian MMA."

Ram stood to the side and said, "You should be in the octagon," referring to MMA contests.

She smiled, kissed his cheek, and whispered, "Too hard on my surgeon's hands." Like Stephanie, the large men did not frighten her.

Malika was also successful in getting Stephanie to run. Along with several Rangemen, the group ran the downtown Trenton streets around dawn, before the majority of the business workers arrived for work. Amazingly the runs usually passed Dunkin Doughnuts on State Street if Malika was leading the field. Even Malika learned a properly fed Stephanie in the early morning led to a better day for all. If Ranger knew about the doughnut diversion, he said nothing. Stephanie was becoming fit as well as overcoming mental demons with the help of the Rangeman therapist.

The day came, Ranger dreaded. Stephanie casually mentioned, "Ranger, I'd like to go after a few skips."


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter19**

"Babe, you won't be doing skips until Bobby and Malika say you are physically ready. You are progressing nicely, but not yet cleared. Remember, the doctors felt it could take eight months or more before you were ready."

"But, my back feels fine," Malika emphasized core strength development to help with the injured back. While in Systema, Malika was adamant about proper posture, also protecting Steph's back. What Steph hadn't mentioned to Malika was the occasional twinge that lasted anywhere from a few seconds to a few hours to be a problem. She had endured worse. "Ranger, I miss the chase, finding the FTAs and getting them back into the system. Not all are dangerous. Some have mental or physical issues not being addressed."

"So, you are a social worker now?" he asked with one eyebrow raised.

Stephanie didn't answer right away. "Maybe I am an advocate. Somebody has to be taking the lead in getting people to help."

"According to Rangeman policy and the contract you signed months ago, you always work with a partner."

"Isn't my probationary period over?"

"I'm not talking about probation. It is a Rangeman policy. Nobody goes for an FTA alone. No exceptions. Even I go with backup."

"Fine, I'll take Lula. I'm sure Mooner or Dougie would enjoy having her there as well."

"Your contract is with Rangeman, not Vinnie. Mooner and Dougie are Vinnie's clients."

"I don't want to be a paper pusher. I need to get out and do something physical."

"I can think of a lot of physical," Ranger said with a smile.

"Outside, Ranger," Steph huffed back, restraining rolling her eyes for emphasis.

"Would the roof work for you? I'd have to disable some cameras…"

"You know darn well what I mean. I want to get back to skip chasing." Crossed arms over her chest replaced the huff.

"Only if your medical support approves," Ranger surrendered the final word to Bobby and Malika.

Bobby, Malika, and Ranger agreed to Stephanie's request allowing her to do one ultra-low bond capture with an experienced partner to determine if she was physically and mentally ready. Her sly-ways were known, so her partner had to be familiar with her tricks. Her Rangeman team member would critique the apprehension.

If she failed, she would be cut from any skip chasing until retrained.

Tank handed her an FTA file. When Stephanie saw the name, she smiled, "This is not a Rangeman file."

"No, I called Connie for something simple. I'm giving you one warning, do it by the Rangeman book, not the Plum book."

"What does that mean?"

"You were trained last Fall in our procedures. Use them," he ordered and turned away.

Malachi Jefferson was a middle-aged man with a brain injury who lived with his daughter, Nashika. Malachi was docile but forgetful. He had a habit of forgetting to pay for his purchases at the local convenience or liquor store.

Nashika was more concerned about her pharmaceuticals than caring for her father. She had her "I love my father" story down pat to fool the social workers into allowing her to care for dear old dad while using his social security disability check to keep herself in heroin.

Stephanie and Lester pulled up to the run-down row home. The warped wood steps and peeling paint indicated this house had not had maintenance for years. The overhead gutter had pulled loose and hung over the porch. "I see Nashika still isn't into DIY," Stephanie remarked.

Turning back to Lester, Stephanie said, "This will be easy. Malachi is always ready to go for a ride, especially if I suggest a visit to a fast-food drive-thru."

"We are not a food delivery service," Les mumbled, wondering if it would count as a demerit. He decided to let it pass. Lester asked, "So, are you telling me you want to take the lead?"

In a hurry to get back to FTA work, Steph answered without thinking, "Sure, why not. I've been here before."

"Remember, you are being graded on how you do. Are you sure you want to lead straight out?"

"We'll be in and out in no time."

"You think she's home?" Les asked, beginning the critique.

Using her chin to point to a car in front of Nashika's home, "That old Hyundai is hers. Unless the tires are flat or there's a big oil spill underneath, she's home."

"What about Malachai?"

"He doesn't drive and barely walks. Nashika is his transportation."

So far, Lester had minimal concerns about Stephanie's thinking. "How are we going to proceed?" As he spoke, he noted another Rangeman vehicle pulled up several cars down. Stephanie hadn't looked into any rearview mirror. So much for being aware of her surroundings. One demerit.

"You take the back. I'll go to the front door," Stephanie ordered.

"Beautiful, the fence is 6' high. While I'd have no trouble getting over, there's a guard dog sign on the fence, and several deep-voiced animals barking from behind. Didn't you notice?"

"I guess you will come with me then. When Nashika opens the door, I'll explain why I'm here and ask if she wants to accompany Malachai." Another demerit.

"What if she slams the door in your face?"

"She's never done that before, but I'll have my foot on the jam preventing closure."

"...and if she is armed?" Lester asked.

"Nashika has never been known to carry a weapon."

"Beautiful, there is always a first time, especially in this neighborhood."

Stephanie replied, "If she's armed, I pull my spray and give her a shot. Once she is disabled, I use my stun gun to take her down." All that was missing from Steph's response was her sticking out her tongue.

"What if there are others in the house?"

Suddenly Stephanie looked at several other cars that may or may not have business with Nashika. "Do you think we need backup?"

"You are lead on this Steph. It is your decision."

"I dunno. What do you think? I guess it wouldn't hurt to call in back up." Indecision. Another demerit.

"We already have a backup. You failed to notice." Another demerit.

"OK, you and I will approach the front door. I will explain we are here for Malachai. If she resists, we enter."

Les and Stepanie approached the door, but Les noticed Stephanie had not contacted those in the backup. Another demerit. Instead, Les gave Cal and his partner a "stand by" hand signal. As they approached the front door, each stood on either side in case bullets came through, which happened here in Valley Gardens, just outside of the Burg. Nashika did not come to the door. It was a big burly guy who could give Tank a run in height, but was far more flabby, "What _ya wan_?"

"I'm Stephanie from Rangeman to see Nashinka. Malachai missed his court date, and I'm here to take him in to be rescheduled."

"Fuck off," the man said as he started to close the door.

Stephanie paused. Another demerit. Her Burg manners wouldn't let her enter without being invited. At least her foot was inside the door. Les didn't hesitate. In an instant, he was inside and in the burly man's face. "Bond enforcement. Where are Nashika and Malachai?"

In an instant, the man pulled a knife from his side sheath, but Les was prepared. Knocking the knife aside, Les delivered a blow to the man's solar plexus, stunning the giant. A quick kick to the knee sent the man down, face down, and Lester kneeled on the guy's neck as he used flexi cuffs to secure the arms. Then speaking into his microphone, he said, "GO!"

In an instant, Cal and Manny were through the door. Manny came to Les' assistant as they secured the wiggling and cursing man's feet. Stephanie was still outside. She had yet to enter Demerit #6.

"You coming in?" Les snarled to Stephanie.

Somewhat shaken, Stephanie came in and stood still. She was lost.

"Well, what's the next step, leader?"

Suddenly thinking, Stephanie answered, "One watches the back, one stays here with the cuffed. The third helps me search the house."

Steph and Cal found Nashika's bedroom door closed and sounds emanating from within, indicating Nashika was otherwise engaged in her business as a prostitute. "We could wait," Steph whispered.

"I don't have the time." With that, Cal forcefully opened the door and announced, "Nashika, we are here to take your father down to reset his court date. You plan on coming?"

"What the fuck!" screamed the man, who didn't appreciate the _coitus interruptus_. "Get out," Nashika cried.

"Your presence isn't necessary. We can take Malachai ourselves," Cal replied without emotion as he stepped back and closed the door.

"Are you coming with me?" Steph asked Cal. Demerit 7.

He only nodded and pointed back to the room. Almost immediately, the door swung open. The naked John was coming out with a handgun, "What the fuck, bitch?"

Cal was to the side, relieved the man of the gun, spun him around, and said, "Pump it back up and finish the job. This doesn't concern you." Giving the man a push, Cal then closed the door. Stephanie stood with her mouth open in surprise.

"Go get Malachai, Bomber," Cal urged.

Steph found Malachai in a filthy bedroom, wearing only pajama pants, watching television.

"Malachai, you want to go for a ride to Cluck in a Bucket?"

"Hell, yes. I _gots_ to get out of here."

"Put on a shirt and shoes, and we'll be on our way."

Malachai's appearance deteriorated as he got out into the sunlight. He hadn't shaved in weeks. His grey curly beard was dirty, as was the rest of him. His mouth reeked, his eyes were yellow, and a bandage on his arm was dirty and smelly. Promising Malachai meal, they went purchased chicken nuggets, which he could chew with his few remaining teeth, collards, mashed potatoes, and a soft drink. Les grumbled the whole time about not being a catering service.

Robin Russel was at the intake desk at TPD. Noting Malachai's degraded condition since his last visit two months ago, she immediately called the EMTs "Good thing you brought him in, Steph. That arm doesn't look or smell good," Robin whispered.

On the way back to Rangeman, Stephanie asked Les how she did.

"Beautiful, granted your FTA was meek and mild, you were not mentally prepared to deal with the secondaries. You made a slew of rookie mistakes, seven actually, in procedures and observations. You were not aware of your surroundings, failed to survey the property, failed to instruct your back up team. Were you going to stand there and let the door slam in your face?"

"He said she wasn't available."

"No," he said, "Fuck you. So you would have turned around and left?"

"Probably," she said quietly as she dipped her head.

"Why?"

"Nashinka was busy."

Les shook his head, "Were you expecting to be invited in for tea and biscuits? You are a wuss. Granted, a lovely, well-mannered wuss, but your lack of aggression is what your FTAs have learned is your weakness. They know you will hesitate to allow them time to fight or escape."

"But, I usually get them, eventually," Steph said defensively.

"Your indecisions put you and your partner at risk. No wonder you were barely hanging on financially. If you put your bounty earnings against time wasted in repeated attempts, destroyed clothing, destroyed cars, and medical bills which Rangeman paid, not you, it is no wonder you never got ahead. I wonder how you stayed afloat. Last Fall, you came to us and began training, taking your job seriously. You were doing well. But today, you are right back to the pitiful Bombshell Bounty Hunter."

"Are you saying I should quit Rangeman?"

"No, I'm saying you need to get your head in the game and upgrade your training. Until then, you are not doing skip chasing."

She sat and crossed her arms over her chest, but said nothing.

As they pulled into the Rangeman underground parking, Les turned off the truck. "Beautiful, I know you are out of practice, but there were some things that yelled rookie. You should be long past that. Why did you carry your purse to the front door? Were you going to apply lipstick? You failed to help me secure Tiny Tim. Did you forget your stun gun? Once upstairs, you left your flank exposed from Nashika's upset client. Cal had to cover you."

"That was his job."

"Good thing you remembered to call backup or else you would be dead," he mumbled.

Stephanie swung around in her seat to argue with Les when her back went into spasm. She had gotten good at hiding the pain. Using Malika's breathing exercises to help calm the spasm, Stephanie slowly untwisted herself. Yes, Les was right. She was ill-prepared, too timid, leaving her team vulnerable. It was what got her in trouble before, and the mistakes returned. Before the Adirondacks, she was doing better. What was different now?

-0-

Malika liked working at the Our Lady of Lourdes health center, the approved off-base clinic for military members. She wasn't doing surgery, but post-surgery evaluations and treatments. However, if the need for minor surgery came through the door, she was ready. There was a speech therapist on staff who worked with Malika in protecting her developing voice. "You have a naturally low voice, work hard to keep it. Avoid straining when speaking, your vocal cords will appreciate it."

"It's sexier," Malika winked.

"I've seen your man. There's a whole lot of sexy in him," said the therapist, smiling.

"He works where there's an office filled with sexy men."

Darlene, the therapist's eye brightened, "Do they need a speech therapist?"

Malika looked at the twenty-something biracial woman with lovely dark brown eyes, long straight hair, and dimples. Her hobby was running marathons and sky diving. Yeah, there would be more than a few Rangemen interested in a date. "No, but dating isn't against the regulations. Pretty much all are reservists or out. Would that be a problem?"

"Not one bit. My brothers are still in."

"Then, my dear, I'm sure I can hook you up with a couple of dates," Malika promised. The guys at Rangeman had trouble getting dates with women in and around the Burg. Often their attempts were better far away from the backward Burg.

Malika stopped at a drug store near the clinic before heading back into Trenton. She was not in uniform as she didn't want her name tag seen by the civilian population. She was in scrubs. Exiting the store, she came face to face with Detective Joe Morelli. He was leaning against a car with his legs crossed at the ankle and arms over his chest.

"Well, if it isn't Charlie Burns or is it Melba Arcadia? Where's your uniform? I bet you being in the military was a lie. That would explain why you are hanging around Rangeman. It is a building of thugs, liars, and murderers. I bet you are playing nurse and spreading your legs with them."

She glared. She didn't know if he was drunk, on drugs, trying to be cute, or just an asshole. Most likely, the latter with alcohol or drugs for icing.

He continued, "You aren't quite that skinny runt now. You are developing some fine attributes, though your chest could use a few more pounds."

Score big-time for sexual harassment, she thought as she turned towards her car. Malika was in a quandary. If she fought Morelli, the police would be called and reports taken. What name would she use? How could she remain anonymous? As expected, Morelli reached out to grab her. She quickly moved her body to the side. He caught only air. Being chemically impaired, he fell onto his knee. She never pushed him.

"What the hell?" He swung his arm back in an attempt to grab her again but found only air. "Hey, come here, bitch," he screamed. "What makes you so unique, you cocktease! I'll get you. Keep watching your rearview mirror, the cop behind you could be me."

She was driving away before he fully regained his feet. Did she dare file a harassment charge? The more her real name was in the public record, the higher the chance Arkady would find her. With an enranged Morelli, Steph's apartment was no longer safe. She had money now. It was time to move to another apartment.

Malika stormed into Shorty's an hour later, having changed from her scrubs into dark jeans and white buttondown shirt. She debated putting on boots or flats but decided on dark joggers. It would be a decision that would save her life in a few hours.

She couldn't find parking near Shorty's but did find one in the next block. The neighborhood was questionable, so Malika screwed down her "don't fuck with me face. Her stride was definitive. The usual eye twinkle was missing. She opened the door to Shorty's with a significant pull, two men coming out saw her aggressive expression and stepped aside.

"Uh oh, someone is pissed," Stephanie said.

When she got to the table and sat, she avoided Bobby's kiss. He was stunned. Turning to Stephanie, she vented, "What did you see in that "_Bolvan glluppy_?"

"_YA polagayu, vy ne imeyete v vidu menya," (_I assume you are not referring to me) Ranger asked.

Malika glared at Ranger, equal to or exceeding his own patented look. After all, she outranked him.

Stephanie was lost, "What a Bolivian guppy?"

Tank chuckled as did Ranger and Malika. "_Bolvan gllupyy_" is a stupid jackass," Ranger replied.

"She must be referring to Joe," Steph nodded. Turning to Malika, "What did he do?"

"He is a feral swine who excels in sexual harassment. There is no way I'd ever consider dating him. His ego is probably larger than this...," she stopped and looked down.

Stephanie was smiling, "Don't stop now. I can't wait to hear what the Russian word for male appendage is."

"It's the same as English but with a Russian twang," Malika answered. "He called me Charlie Burns and Melba Arcadia. I understand Charlie for Cheryl, but Melba Arcadia is an attempt at my real name. How the Sam Hill did he learn that?" Shaking her head for a moment, she continued,

"I need to find someplace safer, maybe on base. I also need a new name again. Hell, I wonder if I'd qualify for WITSEC?"

Bobby didn't say a thing. He hadn't seen her riled up before.

"What did Joe do other than mess up your name or names?" Ranger asked quietly, trying to diffuse her anger.

"Aside from ambushing me outside Walgreens in Mercerville, he tried to grab me. You know that didn't work. Then he asked if I was whoring my way around Rangeman. He also warned me the next time a cop pulls me over, it will be him."

"Was he drunk?" Tank asked.

"He was impaired. His eyes were bloodshot. Beyond that, I can't say.

"I'd report the SOB, but what name do I use? Melba Arcadia?" She shook her head in dismay. "I didn't touch him or say anything, not even a rude hand gesture though I'm sorry I didn't make a gesture right up his a_mudak."_

"Does that mean what I think it means?" Stephanie asked.

Ranger nodded.

"Oh geez," Stephanie huffed.

"He's not your problem, Stephanie. He's a big boy now," Malika responded.

"He seems to be getting worse since last October," Stephanie mumbled.

Ranger took her hand, "Your father showed Joe Juniak his evidence file. Morelli's was suspended for thirty days while you were away."

"I'm glad I didn't know. No doubt, in the Burg's eyes, I am responsible for his suspension," she said with sagged shoulders and a dropped head.

Malika jumped in forcefully, "Stop that now! Joe and only Joe is responsible for his actions, just as your mother is responsible for her drinking. You are responsible for yourself and have been for years. When are you going to take responsibili only for what you do?" Malika lowered her voice and quietly said, "You need a better psychologist. You are regressing to when we first met."

Stephanie's head snapped up, and her eyes opened wide in surprise. This was the first time Malika had vocally shown her hard edge. Everyone present reeled from the explosion.

Malika continued, "Joe is a self-centered bastard caring only for HIS needs. He is and has been obsessed with you since…ah, times past." She didn't want to go into Stephanie's history with Joe pubically. "If he were all hot to trot to find a wife and start a family, he would be in a relationship now. Instead, he's still trolling the streets, looking for someone to dominate and abuse." Malika stopped and drank half a glass of water before continuing. Extended talking was still tricky. "I suspect getting suspended bruised his over-inflated ego. Instead of learning from it, he has lost his decency facade and now is a true predator."

The quiet around the table indicated the others were considering what Malika had said. While Stephanie had no contact with Joe, the Rangemen who had encountered him these past few months had not said anything to her. Joe's rails against Rangeman was getting worse. He had been cautioned by his superiors several times to shelve his opinions.

To break the conversation's seriousness, Lester, ever the jester, said, "How about Micky Santos?"

Malika's water glass was halfway to her mouth when she stopped, "What? Who is Micky Santos?"

"You said you needed a new name. How about Micky Santos."

Bobby stiffened.

"Wasn't there a Mafioso by that name?" Malika asked. "I was thinking Jane Doe, Mary Smith, Sue Bell..."

"Sue Bell? Sounds like a cow," Hal chuckled.

Malika laughed a full-body laugh to release the tension of the Morelli encounter and discussion. "Yeah, it does. Mooooo! I need a short common name, Beth, Jill, Grace, Lyn. Even Sue is acceptable with a different ending."

"I like Grace. It fits you," Stephanie smiled.

Malika tried it out, "Grace. I've always liked the name. OK, what about a surname? Keep it simple. Ball, Smith, Dodd, Jones...

Bobby turned and said quietly, "How about Mrs. Robert Brown?"

Malika didn't quite catch what he said, "Robin Brown?" She repeated. She was confused.

"No, Mrs. Robert Brown?" He said a bit louder.

There was a hush at the table. Did Bobby just propose to Malika?

Never taking her eyes off Bobby's, Malika raised an eyebrow as if you ask, "What do you mean?" The sincerity and embarrassment showed equally. "You want me to marry you?"

"Do you find that offensive?" he asked with a little fear in his eyes.

"Not at all, just the opposite."

"Well?" Bobby asked cautiously.

She tried to speak several times, but nothing came out. Finally, she said, "You've turned me speechless again." Reaching over, she kissed his cheek, whispering, "I'll take that under serious consideration. It sounds promising, but we need to talk more."

Bobby smiled and returned her cheek kiss.

"Well?" Lester asked, echoing Bobby's question.

Malika turned back to the people at the table, "I'm leaning heavily towards Grace, but I'm not against Micky as a nickname. It's cute."

"I was referring to Mrs. Robert Brown," Les said.

"I'm taking it under advisement, Les," Malika answered as she wrapped her around Bobby's and leaned into him.

"I'd hang out for a better proposal," Steph laughed. "That was a bit weak."

"Not if you are trying to erase the past and making it easier for brain challenged predatory Trenton Detective to pronounce."

"Is there a past to erase?" Hal asked.

"Too much," she said, shaking her head. "The saying that which doesn't kill us makes us stronger only goes so far. It also gives us nightmares."

Heads nodded in agreement up and down the table.

"I get the feeling you and Bobby knew each other before Albany. Did you meet in a medical facility somewhere?" Hal asked.

Ranger, Tank, and Bobby looked at her, wondering what she would say.

She hesitated, "I'm somewhat fuzzy on the meeting as it was years ago and I wasn't my best. I was a flight surgeon on a medical transport out of Bagram. A group kidnapped me and took me to a band of nomads in Turkmenistan. The leader's wife was quite ill. After she got better, I thought I'd be released and even tried to escape." Malika stopped and sipped her water. "My step-father arranged for the kidnapping. He wanted me to marry into his tribe. Unfortunately, the tribe member who claimed me against the leader and mullah's wishes was a Taliban fighter."

"Oh fuck," Hal said.

"The tribal elder took my uniform and burned it before many others saw it. From then on, I was a captured Russian Army medic. Ene was a psychopath who had a particular hatred of women and anything American. Being Russian spared my head, but I was treated worse than a prisoner. Seven months later, near death, the Rangers found me. Ranger, Tank, and Bobby were part of the team."

Hal muttered a quiet "Shit."

"Where is your step-father now," Stephanie asked.

"That's what worries me. My attackers in Albany spoke Russian. My current stalker could be someone who works for him. Arkady has been part of the _Bravata_, Russian Mob, since his release from prison. Then again, the Trenton stalker could be Morelli."

"Who taught you Systema," Stephanie asked.

"Ivan was my father's aide. He knew about Arkady's temper. Suspecting I'd need to protect myself, he taught me from age five. One night in Paris, Arkady came home drunk...again and began beating my mother. When my mother lost consciousness, he came into my bedroom to rape me. I escaped using a bit of Systema. Arkady went to prison for ten years. Mama, Ivan, and I moved to New York City. Mama and Ivan married. It turned out Ivan was my true bio-father, not Arkady. Unfortunately, Ivan and Mama died when I was in college, so I went into the Air Force. Arkady made his move in Afghanistan. Fast forward to Albany."

Everyone was quiet for a while. There was a lot of information to process.

"I need to become invisible to him. I hoped living here would hide my trail. That's why I'm serious about changing my name and perhaps leaving the Air Force. I may have to run again." She said the last part with sadness in her eyes.

"What if you are married?" Bobby asked.

"The marriage and name change might be enough to stop him, but my security isn't a sound reason for marriage."

Stephanie zapped back to Joe: "_Cupcake, I'll take care of you._"

She completely understood Malika's hesitation. Marriage wasn't a guarantee of safety.

Ranger's mind went in the other direction. If he gave Babe his name through marriage, would it put her in greater danger? But then, Stephanie Plum already had her enemies.

Malika continued, "I'm also worried about how Arkady is finding me? Is it the Russian Mob? Sometimes I think he has connections within our government, including the Pentagon."

"What was your mother's name?" Stephanie asked.

"Katherine Bianca. She was a composer and concert pianist from New York City. Katherine is my middle name."

"What about Grace Katherine Brown?" Stephanie asked.

Lester butted in, "I still like Micky for a nickname."

"So will it be Grace Brown to be called Micky?" Bobby asked.

She thought a while and sighed, "I thought changing my name to just two names would be tough. You want me to adopt four?"

Bobby simply answered, "Yes."

"Micky isn't much different than Malika. Would I be dissuading Arkady by that change?"

"So, you want to be called Micky by your closest friends, and Grace own elsewhere," Tank asked.

She hated thinking of early retirement. If she leaves without a pension, changes her name, wouldn't that help her hide? It was too soon to think that far, let's deal with the present. "Grace is better than the translation for Malika. It means queen." Looking at Lester, she wrinkled her brow and said, "Don't even think about the name Queenie."

Lester looked like someone had beaten him to the candy box. Instead, he responded, "That wasn't much of a proposal, Bobby. You are not known for your flamboyancy, but even by Brown standards, that was pretty flat."

Bobby smiled, "She wanted a new name, one easier to pronounce, and we've been discussing a more permanent relationship. So I took the initiative."

Malika turned to Lester, "I still haven't said yes, Les. However, if you need a spectacle proposal, then work on your own."

"But Micky dear," he oozed with all his playboy charm, "Bobby beat me to it."

Micky laughed, "Lester. You snooze, you lose."

Grabbing his heart in a mock faint, Lester purred, "You mean there's still a chance?"

"Sorry, the ticket has been sold." Malika enjoyed bantering with Lester.

"Are you serious?" Stephanie asked, jumping back into the discussion.

"Serious about what? Marrying Lester?" she winked.

"The name Micky. The guys at Rangeman have trouble with Malika. Then there's that asshole who shall not be named who started this conversation."

Hall popped in, "I like Micky."

"I prefer Malika," Tank said.

Malika smiled. "Sir, I would be honored if you continued to call me Malika, but not in public, where others can hear."

As they completed their meal, everyone stood. Bobby asked the new Micky, "Where did you park?"

Remembering what neighborhood she was in, she appreciated his concern. "There was nothing in this block, so I'm down one."

"I'll walk you to your car and then follow you back to your apartment."

"Where will we discuss this name change?" She winked, kissed his cheek, and moved off. Bobby went to follow, but Lester grabbed his arm, "Hey man, I didn't mean to condemn the lukewarm proposal. I just thought you'd come up with something more colorful, ring in hand."

"And what would fit your definition of colorful?" Bobby asked with a touch of annoyance but also humor.

Rocking back on his heels, Lester thought, "Perhaps a horse-drawn carriage or troika pulled by big black steeds, skywriting a proposal, or a romantic dinner, tuxedo, and down on your knee with a giant diamond ring."

Hal wasn't going to be left out, "Maybe a hot hair balloon ride, multiple dozen long stem red roses, and sea-side stroll," Hal added.

Ranger even butted in, "At least a romantic dinner. Shorty's doesn't quite cut it."

Stephane threw her arms around Bobby, "She's not a hearts and flowers gal, but you could up your act a bit."

"You have me confused with Ranger. Can you see Malika, err, Micky going for a big production?" Bobby asked.

"Yes," Ranger replied. "Her step-father was a diplomat. Her mother was a concert pianist, and her father, a Russian Army Colonel. She has lived in Moscow, Rome, Paris, not Dog Hollar, Kentucky. She is a lady. She needs more than pizza and beer in a tough bar."

Stephanie gasped. That was precisely all she ever got from Joe. There were never any chocolate hearts, flowers, dates, romantic outings. Yes, Ranger had been plying her with meals, but occasionally very fancy restaurants. He had taken her to the ocean several different times; Point Plesant and Miami, even DisneyWorld.

"Maybe you should buy her something more personal like sexy negligee and plan an all-nighter in a motel," Lester suggested.

Ranger smacked Les' head, "Real classy, asshole."

Meanwhile, Micky had reached Shorty's front door. Tank was right behind her. "I think you and Bobby would make a great couple."

She turned, "Thank you, Tank. At first, I wasn't sure it wasn't survivor's admiration. Our relationship has moved far beyond doctor-patient. We genuinely share so much in common; music, theater, books, long walks in the woods. We love and care deeply about each other. I trust him, which is hard for me. I'm still afraid and think I need to run again. But I know it would destroy me, and I suspect him. I haven't buried all my ghosts."

Tank huffed, "Who has?"

She stood on her tippy toes while pulling his shoulder down to her level. Kissing his cheek, she said, "Thank you for being such as a good friend." She turned and went out the door. The late summer weather was unstable. A storm was moving in. Without warning, a lightning bolt struck the pole just a few yards away from Micky. The rapid change in air temperature was explosive, propelling her down the sidewalk.

Ivan taught her to remain loose, so she hit the ground and rolled, displacing the force through her body. But her mind crashed back to the night in Paris nearly 30 years before. Mentioning Arkady has brought it to the forefront. Suddenly she was back in the Paris apartment, running down the stairs and into the night just as lightning struck nearby. Malika was once again the nearly naked ten-year-old girl crouched down with her face in her hands whimpering over and over, "_Dyadya mne pomogayet"_ (Uncle help me).

Tank was quickly out the door where he found Micky still crouched down and whimpering like a child. Pickering her up to her feet and held her close listening to her pleas. "Bad't_ spokoyny." _(Be calm little one). Tank quickly lifted her into his arms and carried her back inside. The electricity was off, the bar was dim, lighted only by emergency lights. "Medic," Tank boomed as he set her down in a chair.

Bobby and the others had already rushed to the front room. Pulling out his penlight from one of his side pockets, he began a medical evaluation. She was shaking, confused, whimpering, but gradually changing to controlled breathing.

Looking up at Tank, she whispered, "_Spasibo._" (Thank you).

Others were also quickly on the scene. Stephanie came rushing up, "Are you OK?"

"Thor's lightning bolts say stay and have another beer," she uttered through chattering teeth.

"You sure?" Stephanie asked. Malika probably shouldn't be drinking right now.

"Personally. I think a shot of vodka would be better," Malika forced through her clenched teeth. Otherwise, her jaw would be clattering.

"No," Bobby said, "Not until I check you out."

Shaking her head no, Malika began, "Doctor, I was not struck by lightning. I am breathing almost normally, and my heart rate is coming down. My eyesight in fine in this dark bar though my hearing is still buzzing. I am not nauseous, only wet from the rain. No part of my body or clothing is smoking, no burns. I was just blown down the sidewalk by the explosive force of the lightning bolt. It has happened before. Maybe I have metal in my ass and attract lightning."

"Doctor quit self-diagnosing. Your singed shirt and crisp hair may indicate a strike. You know as well as anyone the damage takes a while to manifest. A more thorough exam is required."

"You just want an excuse to get me naked," she winked as the adrenaline excess had begun to fade.

"If I wasn't such a compassionate doctor, that alone would have cost you a CAT scan and an MRI. You may have a proximal burn, not a strike. For sure, I need to check your eardrums and hearing. "

"What did you say?" she sassed back.

Hal appeared with a bar towel filled with ice. "For you."

Micky smiled, "Thank you. Too bad you didn't bring the vodka too."

Before Hal could respond, Bobby said, "Please, Micky, let's forgo the vodka and get you checked out."

She smiled, this was the first time she heard her nickname, and she liked it. "Are we going to McGuire-Dix?"

"St. Francis."

"Nope. No way I'm going into the Trenton-hell hospital unless I'm hemorrhaging or unconscious."

"How about Rangeman. Let me do a preliminary eval, and together we will desire if you need further attention. Please, Micky."

She looked at Stephanie and shrugged. Stephanie returned the shrug. When a guy says please, wha...

Once in the Rangeman clinic, she sat on the exam table. The raised eyebrow was her only communication. Whether she was feeling snarky, playful, or pissed off, he couldn't tell. He'd better get better at reading her facial expressions; after all, he just proposed to her.

Bobby was in doctor mode, "I'll need to check you for possible strike locations." Reaching under the table to the drawer, he pulled out a sheet. "I'll step out."

Malika was going to sass back something about why he wasn't helping her undress but understood his professionalism. She slid off the table, but he did hold her arm until he knew she was steady. When assured, he turned and left. Her pants were damp. Her shirt was wet and had scorch spots up around the neck. Damn. She scooted back onto the table, wrapping the sheet from front to back. "OK, I'm...indecent." There was still a bit of playfulness.

"I want to start with your scalp. Lie down, face down. After carefully parting her hair and examining the scalp, Bobby proclaimed, "I do not see any scalp discolor. Your hair is burned. You'll need to visit a stylist to have it evened out. You have proximal burns, not a strike pattern, to your upper back." Continuing the exam, he checked her eyes and ears and did the basic neurological and a hearing evaluation. "So far, I'm not finding anything. Your eardrums are intact."

She could have said, "Told ya," but held her tongue.

He first looked at her shoe soles for burn marks. Some of the treads were melted. "The current may have been stopped by your shoes. Good thing you weren't wearing flats. Let me look at your right foot again." Shaking his head, he said, "I see nothing. Do you feel any tingling?"

Time to break the professionalism, "I tingle every time you touch me."

For the first time, he broke a smile, "Smartass."

"What was that about my ass? Should I turn back over so you can look for the metal?" Leaving off the sheet, she said, "Is this better?"

Resetting the sheet over her body, "I'd like to wash the burned area."

OK, he wasn't yet in a playful mood. Bobby tucked towels about and started carefully washing the area with a cleaning solution.

"I didn't know Ranger and Tank spoke Russian," she said he sponged off the area.

"They did work in Russia some years back. Was it your first language?"

"My mother spoke English to me, Ardady and Ivan spoke Russian. Ivan also spoke French to me. I picked up the language where we lived."

"Are you afraid of lightning?" He remembered how upset she was when Tank carried her back into the bar. Bobby was sure she had been struck.

"No, not generally. This time it was too close. It goes back to that night in Paris. I ran out of the apartment to escape Arkady and out the front door just as lightning hit down the street. This time the lightning was a lot closer. Talking about Paris this evening, and then the lightning brought it all back."

"Do you think Arkady knew you were Ivan's child?" Bobby asked mainly to distract her.

"I don't think so. He didn't see me much while married to Mama. When he was home, I was to stay in my room. He wanted to send me to a private girls school in Switzerland, but Mama wanted me home with her. Looking back, I think he would have had me kidnapped in Switzerland."

"That had to be tough."

Micky sat up and swung her legs over the examining table. Neither Bobby or Micky noticed she was naked. "New York was a beautiful fresh start. Ivan immediately moved in on the pretense to protect us. I was thrilled, but even more so when I learned, he was my true bio-father. They married soon after."

"You miss them."

"More than you know. When we moved to New York, my heart blossomed," she said as her eyes got glassy, how she missed her mother and father. "I used to dream about marrying and having children, grandchildren for them. They deserved more happiness together."

"Do you think Arkady is still after you?" Bobby asked.

"Yes. Ruslan, the tribal leader in Turkmenistan, explained Arkady promised to send his children back to Turkmenistan. I suspect my so-called trip to a Swiss boarding school would have been a diversion to my final destination. Arkady arranged for me to marry into the tribe once I reached puberty. Ruslan had someone else in mind as my husband, but then Ene showed up. He had been a bully, and many in the tribe hoped he died fighting with the Taliban. He had several wives before, and all died. All the other women in the camp would say is he was very strict. I soon realized he was a sadistic sociopath. His younger brother was just as bad. As long as I'm of childbearing age or Arkady is alive, he will try to get me. It is the only explanation for Albany. Somebody needs to send him my medical records proving I am not his child, and I can't bear children thanks to Ene."

"You mentioned you were thinking about moving. Do you mean transferring or leaving the Air Force?"

She looked sheepish. "The Air Force has been good about hiding my identity, but Arkady must have his sources. Morelli calling me Melba Arcadia indicated he heard my name. But now, with you, I can't leave."

"Maybe we could leave together," he said quietly.

"No. You are an investor, a Core Team member, and a doctor. Your license is in New Jersey. I could not ask you to run with me." She began to stand, and Bobby held her if she became light-headed. Bobby wrapped his arms around her, suddenly realizing she was naked. "I'd better get you a wrap. You can't be walking around the halls like this."

Laughing, she said, "Hal would have a heart attack, and Lester would... I'd rather not think about that." Pulling on her wet blouse and pants, she tucked her bra and panties in her pockets. The wet white shirt left nothing up to one's imagination; her nipples and areola showed through the fabric. Bobby wrapped the sheet around her sarong style. "There, that's more modest." After tucking the cloth, he pulled her close for a long, deep kiss.

Micky pulled back, "I wouldn't mind carrying this further, but not here. Boundaries Dr. Brown, no sex in the clinic."

"My apartment is next door."

"As tantalizing as that is, I need to get dry clothes," she said.

"Then we will have to carry to continue this in your apartment hopeful future wife and Mrs. Robert Brown. Anyway, it is more private than in my apartment. Les would likely figure something was happening."

"Ah, Bobby, my car is still at Shorty's. I'll need it to get to work Monday."

"It's been rescued. That's not a neighborhood you want to leave a car for long. I'll take you home."

When they got to Bobby's vehicle, she unwrapped the sheet and placed it on the seat. "Leather protection."


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Arriving at the apartment building on St. James, Malika was excited to see her car. She looked at Bobby with one raised eyebrow.

"Rangeman efficiency. The keys will be either under the seat or the side pocket," Bobby shrugged.

"How did you get my keys?" she asked.

"You dropped them in front of Shorty's. Tank gathered them up. We were afraid the lightning deactivated the chip inside the key. Apparently not. I will lock the car while you head inside. Are you going to wrap the sheet around you again to get into the apartment?"

She laughed, "My neighbors will think I was at a toga party. No, let the old men have a thrill. It's like a wet t-shirt contest." Malika sashayed her ass at Bobby and took off for the apartment door. He smiled to himself, the lightning, rain, and proximal burns didn't dampen her libido. Tonight promised to be exciting.

As she walked across the lot towards the rear of the apartment, the back entry door opened, and Joe Morelli stepped out. It was apparently he was still upset by happenings earlier at the Walgreens in Mercerville. "I knocked, but you didn't answer." He looked at her attire and leered at her breasts showing through the blouse. "I see you've changed into something more suitable."

Malika took a couple of steps back, giving herself room to maneuver. She also mentally reminded herself the door had exterior security cameras. If Joe made any aggressive move to her, she wanted it recorded before she took a more forceful response.

"What do you want, Morelli?" she shouted so Bobby and nearby apartments would hear. She would pay for the effort tomorrow with sore vocal cords. It was the second time she had raised her voice this evening.

"You can speak. I knew it. All this time, you could talk but were too damn arrogant to speak to me."

"I had my reasons, Morelli. Now, why are you here?"

"I'm looking for Cupcake."

"Try the grocery store, or maybe you should return to Tasty Pastry where you can take some fresh young girl behind the cannoli counter as you did Stephanie years ago."

"So you do know where she is."

"I didn't say I knew where she was. I know what you did to her. Your Lothario ways are well known in Trenton Joe."

"My what?"

"Did you flunk Literature, Joe? I assumed you had to be educated to be a cop. But since you are lacking, Lothario means seducer. People warned me you would come catting around as you do to a dozen different women's residences. I've already let you know I'm not interested. Why are you stalking me?

"I don't stalk, bitch."

"I beg to differ. Did you just happen to be at the Mercerville drugstore earlier today? You've been sitting in this parking lot or along the street frequently. I've seen your car cruising past the Lourdes clinic near Dix. "

"I'm looking for Cupcake and I want to ask you out on a date."

"Are you trying to keep up your record of seducing every Burg woman under 50, and I'm your next victim? You call me arrogant, stalk me, assault me this afternoon in Mercerville, and call me a bitch. Once you had smooth moves, but now you are a joke, a disgusting shadow of the once great Joe Morelli."

Joe was turning red, his hands clenched, and teeth grinding. "So why won't you go out with me?"

"Just because the all-holy Detective Joe Morelli hasn't plucked my plum doesn't mean I have to agree to date you. Why on Earth would I go you with you? Lord knows what disease you have picked up in your sexual exploits. But if you need a reason why I'm refusing you, because I'm engaged."

"Yeah, right, where's the ring?"

"I'm a surgeon. Jewelry is a bother."

"Oh yeah, the _I am the doctor_ baloney. If you were a doctor, you would not live in this dump. Only losers live here."

"Morelli, you are insulting the senior citizens here who have supported your police detective salary." Malika raised her voice to assure the man listening just inside his window could hear. Mr. Butowski, retired TPD detective. She noticed Bobby was only a few yards behind Joe with his cell phone in hand, no doubt recording the interaction. "The reason I'm living here Detective Morelli, is I'm a bit behind in finances due to losing everything in a fire. Ms. Plum's rent was paid up for several months."

Morelli threw his head back and laughed, "Cupcake was never ahead on her rent. She was a joke, so incompetent at her job she had to live off the largess of others like her mother and me. Manoso paid her rent, so she'd be his whore."

"But then why did she continue to sleep here. Why did she not live full time with him or with you? Stephanie wanted to maintain her independence. It is more important to her than a dead-end marriage popping out babies like the rest of the brain-dead women in the Burg. The thought of becoming a wife under your domination is repugnant to her."

"Cupcake is mine. I was the first one between her legs. She will make my babies once I get her away from that thug."

"What makes Stephanie special? I understand you were the first between many Burg young girls' legs. Why aren't you branding them as yours? As for being a whore, yeah, it is what she was doing with you. You two were not married. Then again, it is what you been doing with women and men since your testicles descended? I think the term better applies to you."

"I've never fucked a man."

"No, you were on the receiving end, to be precise. Need we discuss a couple of male bars in Toms River, especially Cowboys?"

"How the hell do you know that?"

"The military was investigating illegal drug activity to servicemen. Don't-ask-don't-tell, but several military cops from McGuire-Dix recognized you and gave you a pass. You might want to get a blood test Morelli. You have had plenty of exposure through various, ah, portals."

"Shit," was all he could say.

"What you imagine Stephanie and Mr. Manoso were doing together has been blown out of proportion in your twisted mind. She was faithful to you when you two were together, except for Hawaii. That was unplanned and not as frequent as you imagine. Think back, Morelli. She wanted to take you to Hawaii. Manoso showed up because she saw one of his skips and called him. To get into the resort, they had to pretend to be married."

"I'm sure they pretended a lot."

"When you barged into their room, their suitcases were packed. He was returning to Trenton. She was going back to Honolulu. How often do you think they had intercourse? I imagine you have had more action this week, Detective Hypocrite than the few times she has been intimate with Manoso over the years."

"And now she's his whore."

"Your relationship with her is over and has been for months! Calling her a whore is disingenuous judging from your actions, including plowing through the nursing staff at St. Francis in under a year."

"How do you know?"

"I told you, I'm a doctor. I may have been injured and unable to speak for several months, but my ears worked."

"You are a doctor, huh? I don't see you at St. Francis."

"Think Morelli. Where do I work? You follow me several times a week. What was I wearing at the drugstore earlier today? Grantedm I wasn't in uniform because I don't work on base though I am an Air Force doctor. Several St. Francis nurses are in the Reserves and have served at McGuire-Dix clinics. While I work out by the base, living here brings me closer to my fiancé."

"Yeah, so we are back to that lie. Who is this cheap bastard who lets you live in this dump and can't afford an engagement ring?"

"I am." Bobby said.

Joe spun around surprised how close Bobby was to him. Joe turned back to Micky, "You are scraping the bottom of the barrel with this thug. Can't you find someone better?"

Micky laughed, "You consider yourself better than Doctor Robert Brown?"

Morelli laughed, "Yeah, right, and I'm the Prince of Naples. Why would you want to marry a monkey?"

"It's better than dating a horses ass like you." She was trying to get him upset.

Joe's face was redder, and his body began to tense. One is never at their fighting best when tensing up. Bobby was ready to intercede but knew Malika could take care of herself.

As expected, Morelli stepped forward while raising his hand to swing. The move was so telegraphed, he all but sent out engraved notices of his intentions. Malika simply moved her head to the side, helped his fist past her head with her left hand, and trapped his right arm against her body. With her right hand, she hit him in at the base of his penis and added a second pop on his throat before he could react to the penile pop. For a finale, she raised her knee to his scrotum. The throat assault wasn't strong enough to cause severe damage as had happened to her. Yet it would cause him to panic and fight for his breath and not continue the fight. The gonad and penial hits were for pain. Wanting to confine him, Malika tapped him behind his knees, forcing his face to the ground. Since she still had his hand trapped, she rotated and kneeled on his scapula, causing him further pain. He was down, contained, and not a drop of blood spilled, though she wasn't sure his testicles were still intact, especially since he was trying to wretch. With the throat hit, vomiting now would be possible, but it wouldn't be pleasant. Twenty minutes from now, it might be fatal.

Bobby was beside her, taking on his phone, "Yes, Morelli at Steph's St. James Street apartment, in the parking lot." He disconnected and chuckled, "TPD and EMTs are on their way." He handed her his handcuffs, "Need some help?"

"My arm!" Joe whizzed.

She leaned over and whispered, "It's OK; you can still pleasure yourself with your left hand assuming everything still works." The handcuffs clicked together.

Mr. Butowski came out laughing, "That was the funniest thing I've seen in a long time. This big burly guy taken down by a delicate woman like you. Are you a Ninja?"

"No, sir, it was Systema."

"I heard you say you are in the military. Are you a Russian Spetnatez?"

"No, sir, my father was. I learned from him. I'm surprised you've heard of it."

"Glasnost or something. Several of us went to Moscow on a cultural exchange with their police. Some Russian Army guy gave a demonstration."

"Was he tall or short?"

"Short, barrel chest, like me."

"Ah, I know him. He is truly the master."

Gazarra and Costanza were the first on the scene with Lester and Tank right behind. The four stood and admired Joe's painful predicament. Unfortunately, with Trenton's humidity, Malika's shirt was still plastered to her braless breasts. Tank was embarrassed, Lester grinned until he saw Bobby's face and quickly locked himself down.

"Attack…police," Joe croaked.

"That won't fly Detective Morelli. You assaulted me earlier today in Mercerville. I'm sure there is a video. And today, thanks to the fine quality video here on this building's exterior plus Doctor Brown's and Mr. Butowski's cell phones, you are once again on Candid Camera."

Malika raised herself off Joe, and the officers lifted a very sore Morelli to his feet. Gazarra shook his head, "Morelli, you stupid jerk, not everyone considers you an Italian Stallion."

Malika smiled and uttered softly so as not to be caught on the police cameras, "More like a Dago Horse's Ass."

Costanza laughed but covered it as a cough. Lester had his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Tank smiled.

As the EMTs came over to check out Morelli, Micky explained what she had done and suggested a trip to St. Francis to monitor his breathing as well as examine his genitalia.

Bobby disconnected his phone and turned to Gazarra. "Rangeman has the video transmission of the event here. It is being sent to TPD headquarters with attention to you as well as to the chief. You might want to interview Mr. Butowski here as I believe he was watching everything from his window. Of course, you are welcome to my video too."

Eddie Gazarra began, "Ma'am, we will ask the Walgreens in Mercerville if they have surveillance tapes. You might want to take out a restraining order against Joe here in Trenton. It won't stop him from coming after you again, but another incident, and he might go to jail."

Malika nodded, "I had already planned on it. There goes my Saturday."

Tank asked, "Is there anything else we can help you with, Doctor?"

"_Yeshche raz spasibo za vashu zabotu." (_Once again, thank you for your concern.)

He nodded and spoke to Lester, "I believe she is in safe hands now."

Lester smiled, wiggled his eyebrows, and left with Tank.

Malika paused for a moment, "Ah Tank, wait. Does Rangeman have an attorney that could accompany me to the police station?"

Tank smiled, "I'll call him."

_"__Spasibo Bol'shoy coin_." (Thank you Big Guy)

Tank smiled and tipped his head. As he and Lester walked back to their SUV, Les spoke up, "Do you dance?"

"What?" Tank sputtered.

"Bolshoi..."

"It means big or great," Tank grumbled. Now Lester had a new nickname to torture him.

When Bobby and Malika got to the apartment, he went in and cleared the residence. Once she entered, and the door was locked, she cautioned, "Front door cameras."

He nodded and gave her a head start to the bedroom before he followed. The still damp clothes were reverently removed as he assessed, not his patient, but the women he loved. "You are cold. You need to shower first."

"I was hoping you'd warm me up."

"I plan on it, but I want you trembling with passion, not from hypothermia," Bobby said.

"Since I need to avoid the burns, maybe you want to handle the showerhead, Dr. Brown."

"We could opt for a bath together."

After a warming bath and hanky panky, they moved to the bed for round two. This coupling was physical love. They touched and kissed each other from the eyebrows down to the feet. Each spent extra time on the others' erogenous zones. Bobby's nipples, abs and genitalia were treated with devotion. In return, he avoided her burns, starting at the breasts. Surpisingly her breasts were not as sensitive as for other women, but Bobby enjoyed giving them full due for his amusement. Malika's super responsive area, beyond the obvious central core, was behind her knees.

As they lay naked in bed cuddling, lost in their post-coital bliss, Malika's phone rang. She read the name and smiled, "Stephanie?"

"Oh my gosh! I just saw the video. Did you castrate him?"

"Nope, I used a high hit to prohibit urine flow, a throat pop to frighten him, and a more advanced Plum Ball Knocker technique to entertain the two boys. Next time I WILL remove all parts, sauté them, and feed them back to him. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm needed elsewhere."

Bobby was chuckling about the term, Plum Ball Knocker. "That move has saved Bomber more times than I care to think about."

"Joe will need a catheter for a while. He's going to be very swollen. I may have also ruptured _one-hung-low_."

"If you could have ruptured both testicles, the male half of Trenton would give you an award. No Joe Morelli offspring. Let's hope tonight puts to end his predatory ways."

"Do you have predatory ways, Bobby Brown?"

He chuckled, "Yeah, I believe I'm feeling another predatory move coming on now." His lips found her lips and began moving south, way south.

-0-

Malika's Saturday morning was spent at TPD downtown completing the forms against Morelli and verifying the first restraining order. The district office in East Trenton near the Burg would have been able to do the paperwork, but Rangeman's attorney drove her to police central, downtown.

The desk sergeant listened to the previous day's actives with a bored face. "Miss, are we talking about Detective Joseph Morelli, a homicide detective?" The sergeant stressed DETECTIVE as a way to protect his officer.

Without turning to her attorney, Malika replied, "Sergeant, apparently you did not hear me introduce myself nor have you looked at my papers, which also identifies me. I am Major Malika Arkendeney, a flight surgeon with the US Air Force. You may address me as Major or Doctor, or even Ma'am. In no way will I respond to your demeaning, Miss. If you refuse to take my complaint about Joseph Morelli, I will speak to your superior immediately."

"Now, there's no reason for you to be upset nor for you to bother the Captain with this misunderstanding with Detective Morelli."

Before Malika could respond, her attorney stood, "We will be speaking to your captain, now. His voice was low, cold, but cut like a scalpel.

"He's a very busy man. It may be some time."

The attorney smiled a smile Malika has used on occasion and realized the desk sergeant was about to be filleted. "We will wait for Captain Stokowski or …his supervisor."

"I'm not sure he is here today," the officer mumbled, surprised the attorney knew the captain's name.

As they moved away, the attorney called someone, Malika didn't catch the name. They sat, and the attorney quietly said, "In a few minutes, this will be interesting." Malika didn't need him to expound further. Within five minutes, a man in a suit followed by another man in a police uniform came into the lobby. The duo walked to Malika and her attorney. "Jack, what brings you to my building today?"

"Simon, this is Major Malika Arkendeveny, US Air Force flight surgeon. Major, this is Police Commissioner Simon Burnside."

Malika was already standing and shook hands with a man she could easily see being a policeman. He was imposing, tall, maybe just over one hundred eighty pounds, excellent posture, in his late fifties, fit, nary a pouch stomach, weathered face, and big, strong hands.

"The major came to file assault charges and a restraining order on one of your homicide detectives, but the desk sergeant has been less than helpful. In fact, he's been quite disrespectful and demeaning."

The commissioner's eyes flipped to the desk sergeant who was listening. Suddenly the sergeant knew what the attorney meant when he said: "or his supervisor."

"Sergeant Rugotti," the Commissioner bellowed, "You will contact Captain Stokowski and IAD Captain Burger. Both are in the building, as you know. Have them meet me immediately in my office."

"Yes, sir," Sergeant Rugotti quickly answered. The sergeant's day was not off to a great start and would probably get worse.

As they exited the elevator on the top floor, the Commissioner told the woman sitting near the desk, "Ms. Abrahams, Captains Stokowski, and Burger will be joining us. Send them right in."

Malika flicked her eye to her attorney. He winked back.

The Commissioner's office did not contain second-hand city reject furniture. The desk and side chairs were dark walnut with oxblood red leather upholstery. The thick blue carpeting would surely muffle any ass-chewing this impressive commander could hand out. "Major Arkendayey, I want to extend my apologies for the conduct of Sergeant Rigotti. We are here to serve the people. Sergeant Rugotti will be reminded."

Malika nodded, "Thank you, sir." She assumed the reminder would be bloodless, unlike the reminders Ranger Manoso handed out at Rangeman.

"As you have probably gathered, Jack and I know each other and have known one another since St. Mary's high school here in Trenton."

"I sincerely hope you were on the same team, I'd hate to be part of a continuous adversarial relationship," Malika smiled hoping to add a bit of levity before explaining why she was here.

The commissioner smiled, "He was a tight end, and I was left guard. We knocked a few heads back then."

"And I hope you still do, sirs," Malika smiled.

A rap on the door indicated at least one officer arrived. After making introductions, Captain Herman Stokowski, of Homicide began, "Does this have to do with Detective Joseph Morelli? I received the file this morning. I haven't finished reading it or reviewing the videos, but have already forwarded a copy to IAD, internal affairs." The captain's slumped shoulders and shaking head indicated this wasn't the first problem with Joseph Morelli.

At that moment, the IAD officer arrived, "Excuse me, I had to print off this before coming up."

After introducing the two captains to Malika and her attorney, Malika broke protocol of letting her attorney speak first. "Excuse my assertiveness, gentlemen. I did not intend this to be such a production. If the desk sergeant downstairs had done his job and not been so insulting and condescending, we would not be together." She then went on to describe her encounters with Joseph Morelli, including the stalking culminating with the previous evening's events in the parking lot of the St. James Street apartments. Officer Gazarra's report was the one the homicide captain had read.

"There's more coming from the county?" Captain Burger asked.

Malika's attorney nodded, "I contacted them this morning."

Commissioner Burnside turned to the IAD captain, "I want Morelli on immediate suspension."

"I was working on that, sir," the homicide detective began. "Morelli is currently at St. Francis."

"That would be because of me," Malika said. "Detective Morelli was attempting to smash me in the face, and I stopped him."

The captain smiled, "I'm sorry I missed it."

"There are videos courtesy of the security company's outside cameras and Dr. Robert Brown's and retired TPD detective Bolkowski's phone videos," added the attorney.

"Did he require surgery?" Malika asked the captain.

"I don't have the full medical information. Morelli will be under observation for 24 to 48 hours as he has a catheter and some breathing difficulties," Stokowski responded.

"I was afraid I had ruptured a testicle or two as well," Malika said sheepishly.

The four men looked uncomfortable. Stokowski continued, "Between the medical leave and the suspension, he won't be working again soon."

Malika's mind laughed, "working again soon" would apply to several functions. If the testicles are ruptured, he'll eventually be able to perform, but there will be no Morelli babies.

"Which brings us to why we are here this morning," the Rangeman attorney continued, "Two encounters in one day would appear to be escalating encounters. My client wants them to stop now."

"Major, you are renting an apartment once occupied by Stephanie Plum. She is notorious for the number of trespasses, explosions, and dead bodies occurring in her apartment." The IAD captain stated. "Ma'am, you might want to move out of the apartment. It seems to attract craziness."

"Are you calling your detective crazy, Captain? Less than a week after moving into the apartment, Detective Morelli arrived at the door and propositioned me having never met me before. Several days later, Helen Plum came and assaulted me as well as two of your officers on information supplied by Detective Morelli. He has been seen and documented sitting in my apartment's parking lot on several occasions. He also often follows me to and from work at Lordes clinic. That seems a bit out of the way for a Trenton detective. Add in to the assaults yesterday, I've been seeing Detective Morelli far too frequently for it to be incidental."

"Major, you were dressed unusually."

"Excuse me, Captain, but yesterday in Mercerville I was dressed in scrubs. There is nothing sexy or revealing about scrubs. Last evening I was caught in a downpour and was returning to my apartment for dry clothing. Wet clothing sticks to skin."

"So, what do you want?" Captain Stokowski asked.

Before she shot back with an answer unbecoming an Air Force officer, she looked at her attorney to answer. "Gentlemen, first of all, your desk sergeant downstairs needs retraining. His condescending and sexual overtones are out of step with police policy. Second, we will file an assault charge on Joe Morelli here in Trenton as well as another in Mercer county. We will also file stalking charges with documentation. A full investigation will determine if he had any official business beyond Trenton's borders."

Before any of the police officers could say something, the attorney continued, "Ms. Plum ended her relationship with Detective Morelli last October, a year ago. She has not seen him or spoken to him since. Yet he continues to be seen following her around town and sitting outside her current residence." Then reaching into his portfolio, the attorney pulled out another file and handed it to the Commissioner. Simon Burnside's jaw clenched after viewing several photos and noting the dates and times.

The Commissioner spoke, "Are these Rangeman photos?"

"The ones showing Morelli sitting in front of Rangeman or following her are from Raneman. The ones with the various women were taken by Frank Plum and friends a year ago, which led to Ms. Plum ending their relationship. As you can see, all photographs are dated and time stamped allowing investigators to determine if Dective Morelli was on duty at the various times or were these personal hours."

Looking to the Homidicde captain, the Commissioner said, "I want Morelli's timesheets pulled and cross-checked with these dates and times. IAD will get these," referring to the photographs.

"These are not the originals," the attorney added, indicating of the copies went missing, others could be procured.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter21**

-0-

After taking her attorney to lunch at Rat's french restaurant in Hamilton Township, Malika was spending Saturday afternoon in the Rangeman gym. Bobby was busy on duty. Ranger asked if she would work out with him.

"How about holds and escapes to start? Then we can move into attacks," Micky suggested.

Micky slipped off her jeans to reveal gym shorts. "Saves going to the locker room," she shrugged. Before Ranger could react, she pulled her shirt off to reveal a workout bra. Ranger noted the men in the gym were taken aback by her casual attitude. Stephanie had always remained shy, even modest.

After 15 minutes of stretching and a quick tour on the treadmills, both prepared to engage in hand to hand, Russian Systema style. Micky appreciated having such a consummate partner. Ranger rarely participated in her classes, but stood to the side, watching, absorbing. This was the first one on one they had ever had. Nothing needed to be shown to him twice, and he quickly developed his own techniques, showing the versatility of Systema. He was unable to get a firm hold on her, though. She had ways to relax one or two muscles, just enough to escape or deflect his grips.

Most of the guys in the gym were watching the two wiggle, slip, and drop each other out of holds and failed to notice Bobby enter the gym hiding behind Tank and Hal. Bobby was not in Rangeman attire. Instead, he was in a dark tuxedo behind the two largest Rangemen as they made their way across the gym to the mats where Micky and Ranger were engaged. The gym quieted.

Out of the corner of her eye, Malika saw Bobby in his formal dress. She stopped, but Ranger continued the attack. In an instant, he had her in an arm lock, his first successful hold.

"When you have a minute Micky." Bobby smiled.

"Formal occasion, Dr. Brown?" She asked as Ranger continued to hold.

"Very."

Ranger exerted more pressure with the hold, and Micky went into rapid cyclic breathing to relieve the pain. "I'll be right with you. I needed to eliminate this cockroach."

Before Ranger could register what she said, she had relaxed a muscle and slipped out of Ranger's grasp, pivoting, freeing herself, sweeping her feet, put Ranger on the floor.

"What the he..." Ranger said as he found himself empty-handed on the floor. He rolled and regained his feet instantly. "Theoretically, that was impossible to escape."

Tank looked impressed. Turning to Micky, he said, "We should have nicknamed you Rubbermaid."

"Please, not another name," she said. Then turning to Bobby, she put her hands on her hips and surveyed his attire, "Too formal for a funeral. Are you attending opening night at the theater?"

He smiled. His bright white teeth shone against his deep caramel skin. "I have been chastised for my lack of romance regarding my marriage proposal."

The other Rangemen in the gym looked surprised. This was the first they heard of marriage.

Micky decided to play a bit. "Well, yes, it did lack forethought. I don't believe I heard the words love or marriage in the suggestion to change my name."

Bobby shrugged, playing along, "I'm an in the moment guy. But since other people were offended, I decided to upgrade to a romantic proposal."

"A tuxedo in a gym is your idea of a romantic proposal?"

Bobby smiled and said, "I believe riding in on a white horse would have ruined the wood floor. To say nothing of trying to bring one up in the elevator." Then getting down on one knee and pulling a long stem red rose from behind his back, Bobby began, "Micky, my love, you have captured my heart. The first strings were thrown many years ago in Turkmenistan. More were thrown in Albany and began weaving together. The months here in Trenton have completed the web. I am trapped, gloriously entangled in my love for you. I humbly ask you if you would consent to be my wife so we may spend our lives woven together."

"Robert Brown, are you calling me a web-slinger?" She kidded. "You know, my dear, black widows consumer their mates after during and after copulation. Even if the males escape, they die from exhaustion soon afterward."

Bobby's smiled, "Sounds glorious."

She laughed, and when the tears were rolling down her face, she said, "Yes, Robert Brown, I accept your marriage proposal." She took the rose from his hand. "If I weren't so sweaty, I'd jump into your arms and kiss you silly. But seeing as you are wearing a magnificent custom-made tuxedo, I don't want to dirty the fabric."

Bobby smiled and held out his arms, "Dry cleanable." Instantly Malika put the red rose stem in her mouth and rushed into Bobby's outstretched arms. Together they rolled to the mats. Removing the rose from her mouth, they began to kiss deeply.

The assembled Rangemen shook their head in wonder then joined together in a mighty "OORAH!

Bobby remained flat on his back, firmly lip-locked with Malika. After several minutes Lester asked, "Are you going to let him up any time soon? We'd like to use the mats."

Micky winked at Lester and turned back to Bobby, "Does New Jersey have a waiting period between marriage license and wedding?"

"Why, do you want to get married now?" Bobby asked.

"Carpe Diem. Since you are dressed for the occasion, I can change quickly," she answered while sitting on his abdomen.

"Unfortunately, New Jersey has a three day wait."

"Bummer."

"New York has something similar, as does Pennsylvania."

"Triple Bummer."

"I could look around, but short of Las Vegas, we'll have to wait until Monday to get the license and Thursday to marry."

"Real bummer."

"You don't want a long engagement?"

"Thirty minutes is too long. I'm not getting any younger sitting on your very firm abs and rapidly firming up male parts."

Bobby turned to Lester, "You might not get the mats back any time soon."

Lester and the guys laughed. "It used to be me making the sexual innuendos. It seems Micky has discovered a whole new side of you, Bobby."

Malika smiled, "Oh, I hope so. I love investigating all parts of Dr. Brown."

The assembled men mumbled, "Micky?"

Micky looked up, "Gentlemen, from now on, please call me Micky or Grace. Due to ongoing stalking problems from my step-father, I need to change my name."

The other Rangemen began gathering around congratulating the couple. Micky had not moved off Bobby has he still sported an erection underneath. Stephanie looked down at her hand and asked, "Where's her ring?"

Micky looked surprised. "Ring?" Looking at Bobby, "Maybe we need to go to Walmart."

"Woman," Bobby huffed, "We can do better than Walmart."

"Nothing too fancy, I'm not that type of gal."

Lester shook his head, "With your skills, a big rock on your finger would be another weapon."

"Good point. Then Baltic amber is out. It will crack."

"What's your favorite stone or precious metal?" Bobby asked.

"I don't know. I've never had reason to own any jewelry aside from a few cheap earrings."

"What is your ring size?" he asked, fishing for needed information.

"I don't know."

"What's your birthstone?"

"I don't know."

"Wow, a jewelry neophyte," Lester exclaimed. "I should be so lucky to find a woman like that."

"Too bad Cracker Jacks stop putting prizes in their boxes, Les. You could save a fortune," Micky shot back.

Lester laughed. Micky dished it out as well as she took it. He was looking forward to her being around Rangeman.

Micky finally let Bobby off the floor. He still had several more hours on duty. While he changed back into his Rangeman uniform, she showered in his apartment, donning trousers and t-shirt.

Returning to the gym, she found Stephanie with Hector doing stretching exercises. "You going ring shopping after Bobby gets off work?" Stephanie asked.

"I don't know," Micky replied. "This is all new to me. Any suggestions?"

"For for a diamond. The bigger the better," Stephanie counseled.

"No, I have nothing to prove, and showing off doesn't suit me."

Stephanie all but rolled her eyes. What woman doesn't like jewelry? "Then think of it as a monetary investment. In the case of problems, you could sell it."

"And get, what 1/10th the value? No. There is no price on the love I have for him."

"People will be expecting him to spend big bucks."

"Why? I don't need a $10,000 or more ring. If that money were invested for ten years, it would be worth $16,000. As a diamond ring, in ten years, it would be worth, maybe $1,000."

"The bigger ring proves he can support..."

Micky glared at her. "I will not be a kept woman. We are equal in love and life. We will pool our money and take care of each other. He will not support me, nor will I support him unless one of us is disabled. Your Burgness is showing Stephanie. For a Wonderwoman wanna-be, you sound very much like a traditional wife."

Stephanie was stung. All her life, she was told her husband would bring home the paycheck. A woman's job was wife, children, and tending family. She's been trying to be something else. Or has she? She rebelled, but has she rebelled enough? Is she still waiting for a knight to come riding in and save her? Joe said he would but never did. Ranger certainly has, but he's not talking marriage. They continue to be friends with sexual benefits. She was the damsel in distress, waiting for her knight to come in and carry her away? Strange, no fairy tale ever explained about life in the knight's castle.

Shaking her head out of her thoughts, Stephanie asked, "Where will you live?"

"Other than in each other's arms, we haven't gotten there yet. I enjoy working. Plus, the military and VA are seriously short of doctors. Bobby needs to live here or very close by."

"Then, you won't be using my apartment," Stephanie said. Suddenly Stephanie was glad she had kept it. She might move back and reassess her situation.

Micky smiled, "I hate to tell you, dear, but crazy things are happening around that apartment. In addition to the lovely crazy women in the elevator and the man that takes his trash to the dumpster completely naked, I have had Joe Morelli twice, your mother, some small man named Briggs, a doper who was quite nice and a seven-foot giant crossdresser. A rather robust woman came to the door with a bucket of chicken and a bottle of wine. I hated to turn her away, but I couldn't partake of either. I have had stalkers in the parking lot and a peeping Tom on the fire escape."

"I did warn you."

Micky had a puzzled look and looked down and mumbled something.

Stephanie watched, "Is there something else."

"I'm not sure the other incident wasn't a dream since I don't know how he got in or left. The windows and door alarms were not triggered.

"Tell me about it." Stephanie was concerned.

I woke to realize someone was in bed with me. A muscular man, naked, was draped over me, snoring. Immediately I restrained him. He started apologizing, saying he thought I was you. When I let him loose to dress, he asked if you were finally with Ranger. When I assured him you were safe but didn' know your status, he apologized again, then leaned over, ready to kiss me. But before lips met flesh, or I smashed his face, he stopped. He said something about two of a kind wasn't a good idea, turned, and disappeared. It must have been a dream, but I swear the room smelled like Christmas sugar cookies when he left. Maybe it was a dream."

Before Stephanie could explain Diesel, Bobby came back into the gym in his Rangeman gear.

"Steph and I were discussing where we'll live," Micky reported.

"As the medic here, I should remain close. Would you mind living here?"

"Not at all. I rather like the neighbors here. No strange guests popping in."

"Beyond Lester, has there been someone else?" Bobby said with concern.

Stephanie and Micky glanced at each other but said nothing.

-0-

Micky and Bobby did not want to be married in Trenton. Micky was trying to avoid bringing notice on herself from the Trenton residents.

The wedding was held in Pennsylvania at the Washington Crossing Inn, just across the Delaware River from Washington Crossing State Park, where she and Bobby now often went to watch the sunset.

Only the Core Team was invited to the wedding. Lester and Stephanie were the witnesses in the Inn's private Secret Garden just before sunset. Being autumn, the brilliant fall foliage along with the late roses, asters, and chrysanthemums provided the color. Micky wore a long sleeve dress with a cape for warmth. Stephanie wore a long coat over her dress. The men, soldiers, endured the 50-degree weather wearing only their civilian suits. Afterward, the wedding party hurried indoors for dinner.

"What made you choose here?" Stephanie asked.

"It wasn't in Trenton but still close to one of our favorite spots. Bobby showed me pictures on the internet. I fell in love with the classic appearance."

"But outside at this time of year?"

"Blame the Russian in me. I thought it was invigorating. At least it wasn't the Adirondikes in February."

Both she and Stephanie shook that horror from their minds.

After dinner, the guests returned to Trenton. Bobby and Malika stayed at the Inn. As Micky snuggled into bed with Bobby, she asked, "Did Washington sleep here?"

"Maybe outside in a tent. This house was built in 1817, about 41 years after the Battle of Trenton."

"Then maybe we should make our own history tonight," she purred.

The newlyweds returned to Rangeman two days later ostensively to host an engagement party. Only a few knew they were now married. Stephanie tried to decorate the yard, but Bobby and Malika insisted there be no balloons, flowers, streamers, or congratulatory banners.

Stephanie stood looking over the picnic preparations, "There is no wedding cake!"

Lester chuckled, "Yeah, they wondered if you would notice."

"Les, we can't have a party without cake! Grabbing Lester's arm, "Come on, we are going cake shopping." They returned with a half dozen cakes of various sizes and colors. "If we stack them on blocks to suggest a wedding cake."

The cakes had messages such as "Happy Birthday, Ralph" and "It's a Girl." Ranger came to see the preparations, "Are you going to put the neon yellow one with the balloons and teddy bear on the top? People will assume they are expecting."

"Maybe it will give them ideas."

Ranger wasn't sure if Stephanie knew or forgot Micky could not bear children. "Put Ralph's birthday cake on top, Babe."

Indeed many of the employees assumed the BBQ was the engagement party and were not aware of the real reasons until Lester, Tank, and Ranger tapped their beer bottles with the knives they all carried in their pants.

Ranger began, "First of all, I want to thank Micky and Bobby for hosting this delicious BBQ. Of course, Elle offered to cook, but I doubt her kitchen could handle what surely was an entire steer worth of beef. Not surprising, Babe provided the dessert cakes, though I still don't know who Ralph is," Ranger said as he looked at the topmost cake in the stack.

After the laughter died down, Tank continued, "We are here this afternoon not to honor Micky's and Bobby's engagement. Rather, to announce Thursday afternoon, these two ran across the river and got married. So much for long engagements. Micky and Bobby will be living here. I'm sure Steph and Ella will appreciate having another woman in residence. Micky will continue her Air Force career at Lourdes and will aid Bobby here. Welcome and offer congratulations to Mr. and Mrs. And Doctor and Major Robert Brown…..

"Micky, PLEASE," Micky quickly added.

Tank shook his head. He wasn't finished with his introduction, "May these two knuckleheads have a long life together."

"OORAH!" came from the assembled employees.

Lester held up his hand for quiet. "While I want to congratulate Micky and Bobby, I'm also disappointed there was no bachelor's party," Lester huffed.

Micky laughed, "Les, you and the men can take him out for a post-bachelor's party. Just because he's married, I don't expect him to spend all his evenings at home with his wife at the expense of his friends. All I ask is no lap dances. I've claimed exclusivity there, and I assure you, they will be better than what you guys pay for at the local bimbo parlor."

The group laughed. During the laugh, Bobby put his ear next to Micky's and said something that made her blush.

Before serving the cake, Micky held up her hand for silence. "Gentlemen, many of you know I'm having trouble with stalkers, probably my step-father and perhaps a second person. Not only am I changing my last name to Brown, but not all of you know I'm also changing my first name to Grace. If you must talk about me away from Rangeman, please refer to me as Grace Brown. But around here, Micky will do just fine. " She wasn't sure it would be enough to send the hounds in another direction, but she was tired of running.

-0-

Stephanie continued to improve physically, but mentally she was stuck. She had made progress, but was currently in neutral, going neither forward or backward. Her weapons scores were improving, but she was still reluctant to carry a weapon at all times.

"Micky doesn't carry," she complained one day. Immediately Micky pulled a 9mm from under her back belt and a knife from her boot.

"Oh?" Stephanie whispered.

"Babe," Ranger began, when you can pull as quickly as Micky, you can carry concealed. But in the beginning, I would appreciate you carry on your hip or shoulder. Micky thinks you should be strong enough now for either."

"What about a knife?"

In time I will ask you to carry a knife. Right now, you are not proficient.

Stephanie didn't notice Ranger had not been insistent. He was asking. "But I've gotten along OK before without."

"Babe, when you worked for Rangeman you carried both a handgun and a knife. Just because I wasn't here to see you, doesn't mean I wasn't informed."

Micky was standing off to one side, listening. In an instant, she knew what Steph's problem was. She needed to consult with Bobby and the psychologist.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

**To those who noted Chapter 22 was the same as 19, you are right! I would prefer it as 22, but I am not changing it. New Chapter 22 is below. **

Micky slipped into the cold, swimming pool water. Swim teams and exercise lappers used the pool and preferred the water temperature at 77 degrees. Yes, it was cold, but Micky knew that she'd be warm after the first 50 yards at a moderate pace. At the end of the first lap, she let her mind wander as she kept the pace reasonable for another 100 yards before kicking it up a notch.

After Stephanie's disastrous attempt to return to skip-chasing, Micky had a casual discussion with Dr. Peter Roman, the Rangeman therapist. Due to HIPPA regulations, they had obliquely discussing Stephanie's regression.

As a surgeon, Micky had only a passing knowledge of mental disorders. She had studied them early in her career and received updates every few years as soldiers returning with PTSD, among other conditions, were often first noted by surgeons and nursing staff.

Micky had already discounted Stepanie having Dual Personality Disorder based on what information about her life years before and the time just before Albany. While Stephanie does have several symptoms, most people in crisis would show one or two.

Stephanie's PTSD could be due to her childhood events and her incredible short marriage, betrayal, and parental treatment. Life as a less than competent bounty hunter or skip chaser had put her in extreme peril numerous times, but she received no counseling. Her being trapped in the Adirondack cabin while seriously injured would be hard for anyone to endure, especially a Burg woman who had never been camping or survival skills.

She also showed Borderline Personality Disorder indications, trying desperately to fill the void left from lack of family and community support. As a result, she undertakes often risky behavior, either consciously or unconsciously.

A recently named phenomenon, Psychological Halloweenism, also fits her, showing how mental evaluations are often challenging to identify. Taking on a different personality to improve one's work isn't inherently wrong. But in Stephanie's case, the role-playing did not come with improvement. She had failed to understand role-playing did not automatically give one the added strengths, but only the desire for them. She wanted to be Batman or Wonder Woman but would not develop the skills.

Which brought Micky, and she suspected, Dr. Peter, to a similar thought, Dependent Disorder. Her avoidance to train and her feelings of inadequacy left her emotionally and often physically dependent on men. She was the damsel in distress, waiting for her knight to come in and carry her away.

From childhood, she received indoctrination to marry and be cared for by her husband. Women were incapable of doing little more than being a housewife and mother. The training worked on her sister, but did not meld into Stephanie's mind but did create an internal crisis. From childhood, Stephanie was confused. She was drawn to the rough and tumbled tom-boy life required of a super-heroine, but her mother vehemently disapproved, forcing her into activities she would subconsciously fail. In ballet, she was deemed uncoordinated. Cheerleading, she was a klutz. Ironing, she scorched the clothes. Cooking, she caused fires with is difficult with an all-electric kitchen.

Stephanie condescended to become a Jersey-girl wearing makeup and high heel shoes, earning credits with her mother as an introduction to finding a husband.

Her father watched her cycle back and forth between trying to be a proper Burg woman her mother demanded and the free spirit once typified by her tom-boy persona for ten years. When it became apparent, his younger daughter would not be a Burg wife to either Orr or Morelli, her father intervened. Stephanie asked Tank for training. For only the second time in her life, she stood on her own. The first time was when she walked out on Dickie Orr, ending her marriage. Moving to Newark, Stephanie was on her own, free of the Burg. She had separated the emotionally needy to a mature, thinking woman.

In her second attempt was like the first, without a man holding her up. She worked for Rangeman, standing on her own as he had for EE Martin years before. At Rangeman, she was free of Vinnie, thus away from Connie, Lula, and Burg gossip. She was not going to her parent's home for food and harassment.

All such self-esteem busters were driving her endorphin level down. One solution was her junk food cravings. A piece of pineapple upside-down cake offset her mother's harassment. Ben and Jerry's ice cream offset Joe Morelli's screaming at her. Even the pizza she shared with Joe at his home was countering her depression-fighting the Burg expectation of marriage and children. Post pizza was often an orgasm with Joe, another endorphin release. She was self-medicating with junk food and sex.

Her work was varied, meaningful, and suited her well. She was part of the team meeting new clients. As a researcher and strategic analyst, her mind was engaged in solving problems. Her self esteem and worthiness increased. Her endorphin level increased with mandated exercise. Stephanie's insistence she hated running was as much about her inability and humiliation in capturing 75-year-old men than in boob-bouncing or sweating. The Rangemen went out of their way to create fun activities. Paintball competitions, skydiving, challenge courses gave her body a good workout without the monotony of 5K runs.

Without sex for an endorphin release, the Rangeman Merry Men took her dancing. Twice a week, she accompanied a group that kept her busy on the dance floor and away from alcohol.

The food pyramid changed from sweets and fats to hot and endorphin inducing spicy. The Rangemen took it upon themselves to introduce her to chili peppers. For one raised thinking pepperoncini peppers were hot, she had a world to investigate, and the macho men of Rangemen were her guides.

Trenton and Newark restaurants, including Thai, Jamaican, Chinese, and Mexican, replaced Pino's and Shorty's. As she climbed the Scoville heat units ladder with increasingly hot chilis, her mouth burned, her eyes watered, and her mood improved.

But then came Albany. In a brief moment, she dropped her guard, trying to be the hero instead of asking for assistance. The result was her kidnapping and injuries. Her impulsive nature got her into life-threatening trouble. Only there was no man to save her. The fear, pain, and humiliation knocked her back in her emotional and psychological troughs of defeatism and self-doubt. When Ranger appeared at the Albany hospital, she latched onto him like a remora, feeding off his strength.

Micky glanced at her water-proof watch. Calculating her regular pace, she realized she had done 2 miles with the crawl. It was time for breaststroke and backstroke until she hit 3 miles. The man keeping pace with her in the next lane nodded. Ram, the Rangeman SEAL, was more than happy to be her water guard while Bink remained on the deck. The following water workout, the two men would switch places.

After returning to Haywood Street, Micky called Dr. Peter Roman, the psychologist, to run an idea by him. He listened carefully to Micky's plan. "Dr. Brown, if anyone can do it, it will be you. She is receptive now. A week or two ago, I would have said no."

0-

The gym door slammed open, and Micky walked in. "Hey, Steph," Micky began, "It's time to go Christmas shopping."

"We still have several days." Stephanie said as she rode the stationary bicycle. Micky noted Stephanie had disabled the screen with the exercise routine and only had the counter and low resistance engaged. Well, at least she was exercising.

Micky smiled, "I'm not a last-minute shopper. Bobby needs a new favorite sweater. The one he has looks like the wool larvae had a fiesta."

"He probably will want to hang onto the old one."

"Not if I burn it," Micky winked. "I thought you were always up for shopping. Didn't you say it was retail therapy?"

"Yeah, I need to get out for a few hours. The walls are creeping in again."

As per Rangeman policy, the women needed an escort. Micky still had her stalker in Arkady, and Stephanie had a whole city full of pissed off former captures. Since Albany, Stephanie was again resisting security, calling it babysitting. Micky insisted.

A stop at the food court was mandatory. Stephanie and Manny, the bodyguard, had hamburgers, fries, and shakes, none approved Rangeman fair. Micky went to a juice bar and ordered a concoction of spinach, pineapple, berries, water, no sugar or fillers. When she returned to the table, Stephanie looked surprised, "I thought you were eating real food now?"

"This is real food. I generally avoid high fat and high sugar foods. That's all I see at the food court. This is fine. I'm getting my vitamins and fiber."

"Wasn't there something at the Chinese place?"

Micky had the Rangeman ability to raise a single eyebrow. A trait Stephanie envied. "Have you seen the sodium content in that stuff? If I'm having one of my salt and fat treats, it's going on buttered and salted popcorn, not some deep-fried dough with mysterious vegetable stuffed inside. One has to save the forbidden for what one likes."

"You eat popcorn?"

Micky removed the straw from her mouth and answered, "Popcorn can be good for you if air-popped with no butter and salt. If I'm somewhat cheating, I use real butter and some salt. When I'm leaping from the good food wagon, I go for movie theater popcorn with the butter-flavored palm oil. There's a real artery clogger. Dang, now you are going to have me obsessing about popcorn. Maybe we can stop at the Cineplex, and I can run in for a bucket."

Stephanie giggled, "As Ranger would say, "That stuff will kill you, Babe."

"Says the woman who is eating over 1800 calories, 70 grams of fat. So are you skipping dinner and breakfast?"

Manny rolled his eyes and said, "She better not, she'll frighten the everyone with her stomach growls."

Micky smiled, "Growls or not, remember what I do for a living. I see the damage caused by years of abuse in even seemingly healthy people who eat junk."

"You forget, I live at Haywood. I have Ella now."

"I'm just warning for when you get away from Haywood, like today. The more you go out, the more you will be tempted."

Stephanie agreed it was probably right. "So, do you eat leaves and twigs?"

"Yeah, I guess I do now that I can eat again. Leaves, stems, fruit seeds, and roots make up most of my diet. It isn't bad with good choices. A blueberry smoothie for lunch is better than a giant bowl of plain iceberg lettuce."

"I'll drink to that," Steph said as she raised chocolate shake.

They sat quietly and ate their lunch, except for Micky, who slipped her purplish smoothie. To slow down and not finish before the others, Malika asked, "Where are you in your relationship with your family?"

Stephanie grimaced. "I talk with my father on the phone, but my mother won't talk to me."

"How does that make you feel?"

Sighing, Stephanie continued, "She has her problems right now. Helen Plum needs to find herself again before she can be my mother. We have a lot of roads to rebuild."

"Do you want to rebuild them?"

Stepanie stared at Micky as if to ask, "That's a crazy question. Every daughter wants her mother's love." But Stephanie thought for a minute. "The road construction will require her accepting me as an individual, not a Burg cutout. And I will have to see her for her flaws and accept them. We both need to understand ourselves and accept our differences before there can be love."

Micky was pleased. The therapist was helping Stephanie. "What about your sister?"

"Dad is talking with her, trying to wean her away from my mother's clutches. I'm hopeful because I miss my nieces."

There were still mountains to scale, so Micky put her proverbial climbing ax into the mountain's ice coating and asked, "Have you spoken with Joe?"

"Remember, we broke up. I'm sure he assumed we'd get back together, and then there was Albany."

"Is that why he came to the apartment after I moved in?"

"He was tired of waiting. I couldn't stay away from him for more than a few months."

"Sounds like he couldn't stay away from you either. Why did you keep going back?"

"I guess I was looking for confirmation."

"Confirmation of what?"

"I was loveable."

"_Looking for love in all the wrong places_…" Micky began singing softly.

Manny jumped in, "_Lookin' for love in too many faces_…"

Stephanie chuckled. "Between the counselor, I was going to before Albany and talking it out with you in the snow; I realized I was looking for acceptance and someone to say, 'good job' and 'I love you.' With Joe, I had a Burg-approved man, a friend, plus he filled my lust, but I never received his acceptance. I thought I loved him, but I wasn't in love with him."

Malika cringed. "OK, let's look at your former relationships. Were you in love with Dickie Orr?"

"Not really. I thought I could grow to love him. My mother kept saying he was a good man with potential. It turned out he was cheating scum."

Micky continued, "Next is Joe. You say you were friends and loved him but were not in love with him."

Stephanie nodded, yes.

"How do you define friendship and love?"

"What do you mean? Friendship is when two people get along, and love is love."

Micky waited for a better answer.

Stephanie squirmed a big, sighed, and began, "When two people have special feelings for one another…."

Micky moaned, "My God, it sounds like the beginning of the Birds and Bees sex talk. Did you read romance novels as a teenager?"

Stephanie shrugged, "I guess I did."

"And what did you learn?"

"Camaraderie, trust…"

"OK, let's start from there," Micky began relieving Stephanie of having to come up with more answers. If graphic novels were popular back then, she would have been a big fan. "Friendship requires admiration, trust, and mutual benefit. Did you have any of that with Joe?"

Stephanie ran through the three definitions. Admiration? Maybe a little. Joe became a cop. Trust? Did she trust him? Not really. It began with the garage incident, then Tasty Pastry. She and he never dated or even talked to one another in school. He was busy chasing after older girls, developing his lizard tongue. There was no long term friendship. Then when they met at the Ramirez incident, he fell back into the Tasty Pastry mode, and she was now a mature woman, ready to play. But was there trust? Maybe, a little. Then her father confirmed the suspicion with the pictures and blew trust out of the water.

Did Joe trust her? She gave him many reasons not to trust her; lies, evasions, and the constant pushback to marriage. Her infatuation with Ranger was another wedge in their relationship.

That left mutual benefit. Sexual benefits, yes. He was also someone who shared her horrible eating habits, yes. The enjoyed watching sports on TV, but never went to games or any restaurant other than Pino's. There was no deep feeling; at most, they were roommates with sex. "Shit," was all Stephanie could say. "No, there was little trust, and I didn't give him much to trust in me. I kept trying to convince myself we had no obligations to one another, an open relationship, but we were too open."

Micky knew Stephanie was thinking again. Once she returned to Trenton from Albany and into Ranger's protection, her brain started coasting as she would soon explain. "OK, let's move onto love. It comes from _Eros, _like erotic, and includes sex and passion. Is that what you had with Joe?"

Stephanie put her hands over Manny's ears, "I don't want you spreading tales, Manny."

Manny smiled, "Sweetheart, as a Texas gentleman, I appreciated your concern. I'll keep your secrets." He continually looked around for his job as a guard. Fortunately, they sat near a wall, so he didn't have to completely turn every few seconds.

Stephanie kissed Manny's cheek, "This will be embarrassing for me. Thank you."

Turning to Micky, she began, "We had plenty of sex, but it was never with heart-filled feelings. It was only sex, playful gorilla sex with orgasms, but his needs came before mine. Near the end, it was routine, no longer playful. Plus, I never trusted Joe hadn't been visiting others, so I made him wear a condom. I knew he wanted to start a family, but how could I do that unless I insisted on blood tests. Plus, I was never sure he hadn't sabotaged his prophylactics. I insisted he uses the ones I bought."

"Was there passion? Bodice-busting, button popping, or panty-tearing passion?" Micky asked. "Did you spend hours worshipping each other or did you worship his cock?"

Manny sat listening while ever vigilant as their security. He was engrossed in how women talk to one another. It wasn't much different than men, but with more lady-like words. Bodice-busting?

Stephanie realized she hated Joe's eagle tattoo on his chest and hairy ass; otherwise, his body was excellent, and his manhood was the best feature. Then she thought about Ranger. There was nothing wrong with his body from his sexy feet to his silken hair. Of course, the manhood was the best she had encountered. Joe's lovemaking was bang-bang, whereas Ranger's varied from sweet, thoughtful to lustful. Ranger could spend the night worshipping every square inch of her body and mind as she could him. No, there was no passion for Joe, just fucking. Stephanie didn't answer Micky. Her sour facial expressions were enough.

Malika spoke again, "Joe wanted you to marry him. _Pragma_ is shared goals as in marriage. You've told me he had his goals, children, for example. You disagreed with them."

"His goals were not mine. He wanted a housewife, maid, chef, and baby machine as well as one who would not embarrass him in the Burg. I tried marriage. It isn't for me. I wanted companionship and a career, not children or clean windows."

"Let's summerise, _Eros_ may bring people together, but _Phila, _friendship, and _Pragma_ must be in the mix for lasting summary, you and Joe had a sexual bond, though not a fulfilling bond. You never shared goals but were lazy friends. What does that sound like to you?"

Stephanie chewed on her lower lip. Time and again, she told herself she loved Joe but was not in love with him. Now she realized she didn't even love him. If it weren't for her mother continually throwing him in her face as the _Last Great Burg Man, _Lula referring to Officer Hottie, the Burg consensus Joe was an Italian Stallion, and her need for sex, she would have tossed him aside or, better yet, never gotten involved. "Fuck buddies," Stephanie sighed. "He was just fucking me."

Micky did her single eyebrow rise again, "Are you sure it was just him? Some people treat love like they are fishing. They bait a line with something attractive and delicious to attract a fish. But the bait is deceptive, promising something that can not be delivered. A hooked fish is smothered, gutted, thrown into the freezer. Only when the fisherman is ready to eat does he or she remove it from the freezer, fry it, and consume. Who was the angler, and who was the fish in your relationship with Joe?"

"I don't understand."

"You based your relationship on deception. Joe baited his hook with sex. Once married, he would bring you out of the freezer and expect babies. If he wanted to marry you, he would have proposed early on. You wouldn't need deception, you would have jumped at the opportunity to be Mrs. Morelli. On the other hand, you baited your line with maybe you'd bear his children. You dangled your fishing line and lure in front of him for years."

Micky said quietly, ready to bring up the concept she and Dr. Roman had discussed. "There is more. You were looking for someone to hold you up. Your mother filled your head, insisting you needed a man to succeed. The Burg echoed that sentiment by meddling in your private life, pushing Joe Morelli as a husband. He was Burg. You, Stephanie Plum, were incompetent. Your only hope of redemption was to marry and be supported by a man.

"But you wanted to be independent and stand on your own. What did you do to get there?" Micky paused a moment to let Stephanie think before resuming. "You married Richard Orr, why?"

Stephanie shook her head. She didn't know why. Yes, her mother pushed the man at her, but why had she agreed?

"Back in the cabin, you waxed about him being an attorney. What did that mean to you? Position? Money? Prestige? Or was he your way out of the Burg? Dickie had plans of being elected to Congress. Your sister had married and moved to California. Dickie was your escape. He was fishing for a complacent Burg wife who would keep her mouth shut about his indiscretions. You were fishing for a ticket out of the Burg."

Stephanie looked at Micky like a lost child waiting for rescue.

"When the marriage fell apart, the job in Newark allowed you to start testing your wings. It was your first step towards a new life, but you came crawling back to the Burg. You could have gone anywhere else, but you came back here. Six months without a job, you were desperate. You find a job as a bounty hunter. It sounds exciting, better than being a wife with children. Your mother is trying to find you a new Burg husband. Then you find Joe Morelli. Suddenly you another way to gain the prestige you had marrying Dickie Orr. You could be the wife of Detective Joe Morelli. As his wife, you wouldn't get out of the Burg, but he could help your career as a bounty hunter. With prestige, your mother and the Burg would respect you."

"If this is true, what about Ranger," Stephanie asked with a hint of acid.

"You met both men within a day or two. One was familiar. The other was an expert in the field you chose, a bounty hunter. Both could support your job. When Joe began balking at helping you, you turned to Ranger. Ranger wanted you to succeed, but you wouldn't take the training? Why?"

Stephanie shrugged.

"If you took his training, you would become proficient and lose your connection with Ranger. You liked having the handsome, buff man come to your rescue, like a damsel in distress. Sure, you could capture the low-level crazies and barely keep your hamster in kibble, but to become self-sufficient with a nice car, house, and retirement, you had to get better. No, it was easier to play off Ranger and his men, use them to hold you up while you thumb your nose at the Burg. This time you were the fisherman, but you were fishing for both Joe and Ranger."

Suddenly the last few fries in Steph's meal weren't looking too good. Steph could decide to eat or throw the rest away. In a quiet voice, she said, "Ranger sent me back to Joe."

"This is the case where the big, strong fish upended the fisherman. He tipped your boat over. Yes, he saw you would not become the strong woman he needed to stand beside him. If you had stood your ground, accepted his training, gotten better, there would have been no need to crawl back to Joe's bed to gain your prestige. You retreated, again, as you did when you left Newark."

Stephanie's head was still staring at the table, trying to review her life from a new angle. Was she using Joe and Ranger to boost her up? It was only it that she would have left Joe immediately and gone with Ranger until she got strong. But she didn't do either.

"There is one other reason Ranger sent you back," Micky whispered. "Ranger was afraid."

Stephanie's head rose quickly, "What! Was Batman afraid? "

"He is not a superhero. He is just a man who has never been in a relationship. He doesn't know how. He felt inadequate for love. Like you, there was trouble in his family growing up. There was no love in his first marriage. You had no love with Joe either. Neither of you understood what it takes to make a relationship.

"He built himself to be the best athlete, the best soldier, and keep the best men with him. He didn't understand what was happening to him. So he fell back to what he knew, training a recruit; Harry Higgins and Eliza Doolittle. But you fought him. That also was new to him. If men fought him, they were out the door as….incompetent. Your Deal with him was the best and worst thing to happen to him. He realized he had deep feelings for you, but you were not strong enough for his life.

"What you don't realize, Stephanie, is you are the weak link in his armor. He's very aware of death and mourns every single man he has lost or was seriously injured. But he knows if you die or are seriously injured while with him, it would undo him. An unwound Ranger puts his family, daughter, his men, and all of Rangeman at risk. You are his Achilles Heel."

"Then why is he still here? He should have left."

"He did. After Scrog, he ran. After Abruzzi, he ran. He considered exchanging Core Teams with Miami or starting the new office in Texas. Ranger can not stay away from you. He wants you with him, but he has enemies. Anyone associated with him is in danger. His daughter has security. His parents have protection. You have trackers you know about, some you don't."

Micky sipped the last of her purple smoothie before continuing. She needed to swim back to her distressed damsel argument. "Maybe you don't realize you've been keeping yourself the distressed damsel, using Ranger the way you tried to use Joe and wanted to use Dickie.

"How dare you," Stephanie shot out.

"Before you go all Rhino on me, let me finish. There's nothing wrong with wanting to hold your middle finger up to the Burg, being your own person. But you have to do it yourself, not by using someone else.

"Realize, once you cut yourself free, you become an outcast. You don't like the way the Burg gossips about you now. They will turn on you as a traitor if you do blow them off. No more eating at Pino's, or shopping at Giovinchini's, or Tasty Pastry. The seeds have already been sown. Have you considered some of your car fires and creative paint jobs weren't criminals' work, but maybe Burg residents who hate or envy you? You have to ask yourself, do you want to remain working in the Burg?

"Ranger will never be accepted in the Burg like he is elsewhere in Trenton and beyond. He remains here because of you, waiting for you to come to him. If you want him, you have to accept his life and all the inconveniences it brings. If not, go back to the Burg, back to your job without the man you love, and his support."

"So, I will never amount to much?" Stephanie asked dejectedly.

"I didn't say that. You can be great, you were showing it before Albany, but now you rely on Ranger to support you again. You have to decide. Are you going to be the scarecrow who needs the stick for support standing alone in the field or are you going to accept without serious training you'll never be a great bounty hunter? You were working in the business section of Rangeman using your brain, the best thing you have going. You do not have the physical skills to be on the streets with the crazies. A great line from one of the Clint Eastwood movies, 'A man's gotta know his limitations.'

Turning back to Stephanie, Micky said, "OK, enough of this. I haven't talked about this much in ages. I vote we adjourn to the nearest bar, dive head-first into several margarita pitchers, get shit faced, and cry on each other's shoulders like the intelligent women we are. Then Manny can take our drunk asses home."

Manny smiled to himself; yep, girls are a little different. Guys would go to a bar, throwback tequila shots, and start a fight but go home friends.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

Note: A new Chapter 22 went up a couple of days ago. Read it before continuing here. Yes, I mish-mashed my story and had an extra Chapter 19 still in line.

-0-

At the bar:

"What's _ya_ goin' to do about your apartment?" Micky asked, faking being tipsy.

"I _looove_ my apartment," Stephanie slurred. "I _wanna_ keep it, _y'know_, just in case."

"Just in case of whaaa?" Micky replied.

"Things happen," Steph said, looking into her margarita.

Micky shook her head. Did those curls prevent common sense from entering her brain? "In case of what, Stephanie?" Micky said harshly, causing Stephanie to raise her eyes.

Micky glanced at Manny, who was sitting nearby, but not at the table with Stephanie and her. She could see Manny rolling his eyes at Stephanie's defeatism. Micky continued, "In 1519 the Spanish Conquistador Hernan Cortez landed in Vera Cruz, Mexico. As his men began marching inland in the heat, he ordered the ships they came on to be burned. Like your apartment, the ships were a safety net. Without ships, there was no returning home. They had to move forward. As long as you have your apartment as a safety net, you will not move forward. Burn your ship."

Stephanie thought of the number of times the apartment had burned but didn't think Micky meant literally. "If what I have with Ranger falls apart, where would I go?" she sobbed.

"You fight for your relationship. You make it work through talking and compromise. Stop running back into denial."

"But.." Stephanie sputtered.

"If you fight and it doesn't work, you leave town or at least the Burg. What is more important, Ranger, Burg, or a stand-up Stephanie?"

Manny had been listening and came over and slid next to Micky, facing the door. "Where would you go, Bomber?"

"Away."

"To an ocean?" Micky asked. "Your happy place?"

Stephanie smiled. Yes, she'd probably live someplace close to an ocean. She has always associated peace and comfort with the waves. "Do you have a happy place, Micky?"

Micky looked off. Has she ever been happy? Yes, seven years in New York City with her mother and Ivan, but whenever she goes back to the city, it is so lonely. Paris, Moscow, and London held nothing but bad memories. "Excluding Bobby, I have no happy place."

"I'm sorry."

"I am afraid until I know Arkady is dead," she sighed. "Maybe after all this ends, Bobby and I can find a place to be happy."

Manny had no clue about what she was talking. He looked at Micky for more information.

Sighing, maybe she was tipsy. She hated telling the story. "My stepfather believes he is my bio-father and wants me to marry into his family tribe in Turkmenistan. He had me kidnapped once and tried again in Albany. It's why I've changed my name and why Bink is my shadow when I go to and from work."

"Shit," Manny mumbled.

After the ladies finished off the overly large pitcher of margaritas, with Micky drinking most, they prepared to leave. Stephanie had told Micky she was a one or two drink wonder, and now Micky believed it. When they left the bar's parking lot, Manny paid attention to the traffic. "Where to, ladies?"

Stephanie smirked, "Usually, _youz wanna_ get back to the _Hashwood_."

"There was a car parked along the street with someone inside. They pulled out as we pulled out. They may be following us. I'd rather not led them back to Rangeman."

"Oh, _dumb_," Stephanie said as she sunk in her seat. Micky reached behind her back and felt her handgun, wondering if she dare pull it as she had been drinking.

Manny called into Rangeman control. "We may have a tail. Requesting backup." Manny didn't need to give his location, the GPS on his vehicle relayed the information back to Haywood, and the nearest unit would intercept. They got off 206 and headed east and south on I-295. Staying five miles under the speed limit, Manny waited for the suspected tail to pass him. It didn't. His phone murmured. Manny listened and then replied, "Yeah, the blue Durango."

After putting his phone in his pocket, Manny said, "Tighten up, ladies. We are going to get a little fancy here while Ram blocks our tail."

Stephanie and Micky tightened their seat belts, grabbed the handrests, and began the rhymic breathing. Stephanie watched her side mirror as Manny suddenly sped up, allowing a black Rangeman SUV to slide in behind them. At the last possible second, Manny took the freeway exit on to Sloan Ave, hurried down the ramp, turned right, and made a series of turns. The second Rangeman vehicle slowed and blocked the blue Durango from following. Manny cut through parking lots, down side streets, and stopped behind a dry cleaner. They waited. Manny's phone murmured. He listened, nodded, and said, "Rodger." Rangemen didn't expend words on phone courtesies.

"Who _waz shit?_" Stephanie asked.

"Joe Morelli."

Stephanie was mad, "What the _fruck_! _Das cap, caprope_….whatever, knows I'm at _Rangeland._"

Manny glanced at Steph, "Wanna try that again."

Micky chuckled, "She was saying, 'What the fuck. That coprolite knows I'm at Rangeman."

"What's a coprolite?"

"Fossilized dinosaur dung. Stephanie is trying to improve her language, but the margarita tongue got in the way." Micky wasn't sure Joe was following Stephanie but didn' share her concern. Instead, she began, "Stephanie, it is time to move on. Burn your ship. There is no safe harbor in or near the Burg. Show us a strong, thinking, prepared woman best suited to stand with Ranger. No more hiding behind a man. It is time to step up and tell Ranger you are ready."

As Stephanie left the vehicle, Manny looked at Micky, "How do you know Morelli isn't after you?"

"I suspect he was, but he'll have to get in line. You don't see me arguing about protection, do you? I just used this incident to finish kicking her butt into gear."

"You've been ragging on her pretty hard."

"It was everything I wanted to tell her back in the Adirondacks but didn't have a voice. She's making progress. She just needs a boost over the final hurdle."

"Boost? I'd call it a trebuchet launch.

-0-

Stephanie took the stairs to the fifth floor, refusing to wait for the elevator. The margaritas were starting to hit her hard as she tripped twice on the stairs. Maybe the elevator would have been safer. She got to the door and paused. What would she say?

"Come in, Babe," came the voice through the door.

Stephanie didn't see Tank sitting in one of the chairs. Her eyes bore into Ranger, "It is time to burn my _sheeps_," she started with a bit of margarita slur. I _whuv _you. I want to be wiff you in a comm….comm, hell, in a _relationsheep_. I _wanna_ _mar_ you but OK if not. I will give up _skimping._ I will _rezum_ my _twain_. If you dare send me back to the damn _Burp_ or that _framming_, _frucking_ asshole Morelli, I will _shooz _…ah, everyone and burn down the _Burp_ and move to Qatar." With that, she spun around, marched back to the door, forgetting it was closed. After bouncing off it, she opened it and took the elevator to the 7th floor.

Ranger and Tank looked at each other. Both men wondered what disaster occurred on the shopping trip to bring on such an emotional display. "I need to talk to Manny. Either she has a head injury affecting her speech, or she's snockered. _Sheeps?_"

Tank chuckled, _"Skimping?" _Tank shook his head, "Forget about the alcohol. She threw down the gauntlet. It's time to step up or duck once she's sober. Her range scores were outstanding before Albany."

"Qatar?" Ranger asked.

"They don't have extradition," Tank smiled. The can't bring her back for _shoozing. _

-0-

Ranger entered the apartments and found Stephanie in the bedroom on her back, staring at the ceiling in what she often calls her thinking position. She was rhythmically breathing the way Micky has taught her.

He quietly walked to her, wanting to wrap his arms around her, but waited. "Babe?"

"It hurts."

"Babe, are you injured? Did something happen?" he asked as his hands slid over her head. Maybe she did have brain trauma. He continued feeling down her arms. Muscles had replaced the weight she lost in New York. While he missed her softness, he relished her toned body.

"My _wife _is _crab_."

"Want to tell me about it?" He said as he kept his hands on her arms, softly caressing them, keeping her from falling over. He reached over to the wastebasket in case whatever she had been drinking returned.

She was quiet for a while, "I'm not sure I have the _woods_, yet. I have _soooo _much to _progress_." She turned around and wrapped her arms around his waist. He pulled her into a hug, her head nestled against his chest. He wondered if she was listening to his heart. A heart that was hers and had been for years, except his brain kept blocking the message. He rubbed her back, surprised she wasn't crying. Usually, when she got this emotional or drunk, tears cascaded. Perhaps the cyclic breathing was helping. He would try to get information by replaying the day's events. "How did the shopping trip go?"

She chuckled, "Good."

"What about lunch?"

"Manny and I ate _crab_, I mean crap. Micky had purple stuff."

"Sounds delicious."

"You would think that. We talked. Well, she talked."

Ranger remained quiet.

"I've let men _poop_ me up, I mean prop. I married the Dick to be important. Joe wouldn't give me help with my _skimps_, er, skips. You are my Lone Ranger, saving my ass so I can wave my finger at the _Burp_. Am I a disaster?"

"Babe, you are too hard on yourself. You are one of the most intelligent women I've ever known. You power through problems where others fail. Your weaknesses are several. Yes, several. You don't talk to me…"

"Pssss, pot and kettle…, whatever," she tried to say.

"I agree, we are both lousy at communication. I blame my training, but you internalize, trying to bust through problems yourself. You take the scenic tour, examing all aspects first, which is why you are a butt-kickin' researcher. But time and again, you fail to consider consequences. You rush blindly ahead; devil-be-damned, and get yourself in trouble. It gave Morelli ulcers and kept my men and me on our toes."

"_Wanger_... Dang, I'm drunk."

He lifted her and kissed her. "Hmm, I taste margaritas."

"Micky said we should get shit-faced since we had a driver. I think she holds her booze better than I do."

"Anybody holds their alcohol better than you, Babe. But let's get back to us. "Your second weakness is disregarding your safety. Bounty hunting is a dangerous job, but you approach it like everyone is going to behave with proper Burg manners. Your body bears the scars proving they don't. You've been lucky so far, but your time will run out. I can't let that happen."

Holding her face and staring into her eyes, he didn't have his granite face in place, but rather one of concern...and love. For the first time, she could read his mind and soul. But after what she tells him, would his mind join the party, or would he find another excuse to keep her at arm's length?

"Babe, let it out. I will continue to love you."

Stephanie's face flashed confusion. What type of love? He has admitted loving her in the past but held it came with restrictions, "in his own way," whatever that meant.

He could read her confusion, so he began, "I was smitten from the first time I met you, but I've never been in love except for familial love. I didn't know how to relate to a woman beyond a sexual interaction. You had me completely baffled. I wanted to protect you from my life but wanted you in my life. But I didn't think my life could afford love or a relationship. My chances of dying were and maybe still are too great to bring heartbreak to another.

"Then one mission was so bad I doubted I'd survive. In that moment of despair, I thought of you. Suddenly I found a way to survive even though badly wounded because I need you. I came home to hear you were engaged to Morelli. I was devastated. After killing a bottle of tequila, I was ready to end my life. Tank found me passed out, gun in hand. He handcuffed me to my bed and placed buckets beside in case I needed to fill them. Bobby monitored me for a day until the alcohol content lessened. Once sober, both of them reminded me there was no formal announcement, but Joe and your mother bragging. Tank reminded me you and Morelli were toxic to one another, and you would come to your senses. He and the men would give me time to get straightened out by running interference between you and Morelli."

"Did they?"

"You had a run of easy captures which enhanced your bank account, taking the financial pressure off you to marry. Joe became upset you were succeeding. Arguments ensued, and you walked away from him."

"Did this have anything to do with my father taking pictures of Joe's playmates?"

"No, Babe. Operation Save Bombshell occurred a year prior. I knew this last mission was the end. I talked with your father about our relationship. Maybe it spurred him into action before I could return.

"Babe, I was coming home to ask you to marry me. Imagine my horror to find you had been missing for so long. I prayed the entire flight to Albany I wasn't late, again.

"The men kept telling me how you had changed while I was away. I knew I'd be asking you to be my wife, but since returning, you haven't found your spark. I recognize PTSD and depression, which is why you've been in therapy and on meds. Each day I hope to see the new Babe the men were talking about. I still love you in any form, but the transition to married life would be easier and safer if both of us are in good mental health."

Stephanie looked away, trying to realign her thoughts with Ranger's confessions. She began slowly, "I've always fought the Burg life. My mother pushed me one way. I wanted to go the other way.

"Marrying Dickie was a way to leave the Burg and maybe Trenton if he went to Congress. When that quickly fell apart, I escaped to Newark and EE Martin. While the job wasn't great, I was on my own, making and saving money. Then it was over. I came home devastated. Being a bounty hunter was my chance at showing my mother and the Burg I could be something other than a wife and mother.

"Micky pointed out how I was using men to hold me up. Dickie and Joe wouldn't cooperate; they wanted a wife. You helped and held me up, but you got tired, waiting for me to get better, and tried to leave. But you are as addicted to me as I am to you. I haven't been holding up my end of the bargain for us to grow together. My Burg upbringing keeps sneaking through at inappropriate times, making me think I need a man to be something. Then my contrary nature kicks back, saying I have to be independent. Ranger, I want to be your partner. I'll never be your equal, but if I stick with what I am good at and abandoned the other, do you think we have a chance together?"

"Yes, Babe, if you get back to where you were before Albany, I think we can work on us as a unit."

"Mmurph"

"Care to interpret that?" Ranger asked.

"Bathroom, now."


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

Thank you all for your patience while I struggled to finish Saving Grace. This last chapter had many endings.

-0-

Stephanie had come a long way in several months. After her eye-opening discussion with Micky and her heart-to-heart with Ranger, she concentrated on her therapy with Dr. Roman. Previously, she refused to delve deep into her past, torn between blaming her mother or the Burg or her problems. While they did incubate her low self-esteem, she lived in multiple universes: Land of Denial, Rose-Tinted Glasses, Stubbornness, and Ego. Yet, she was also open and loving to others.

Her daily journal allowed her to discuss to herself what she was feeling and how she was reacting. From there, she could form strategies to overcome problems. It was similar to her research work, but she never thought to apply it to herself. In her work, she gathered data and highlighted key points that led her to solutions. In her personal life, she allowed her mind to run free. She did not have to ability to filter everything she encountered or her thoughts. She was overwhelmed and began to blame others: Ranger, Joe, Lula, Edna Mazur, and Helen Plum. he reliance on men was her mind needing a leader to set a straightforward path for her as long as it followed her deep-seated need to be independent, a dichotomy. The independence was critical after a life under Helen Plum's and the Burg's dictates.

Ranger was also undergoing therapy. Not only was he damaged by his military and Black Ops work, but also his childhood and relinquishing his daughter. His closed nature that made him such a good military man made him lousy as personal relationships.

It was a common problem in military families; the strain of service and the "need to know" chain of command. When he realized how carefully Stephanie had refused to gossip about him since they met, he began to trust her. After all, she never did reveal their sexual activities or his penal size to Lula or Connie.

Together they were getting better and closer. Stephanie gave up all skip chasing and concentrated on physical fitness, personal self-protection, but still had problems with her diet. Ella was surreptitiously creating luscious desserts without refined sugar, artery-clogging oils, or weird chemicals. A new favorite was puffed pastry and baked apple slices rolled together to form small roses. Stephanie's eyes were deceiving her taste buds. Even Ranger would eat a small apple rose as dessert.

Now was not the time to let Stephanie take over new client calls without an assistant. The specter of Joe Morelli and past FTAs made sudden retribution a real possibility. For now, her abilities as an assistant to Tank in office management and genius in research kept her busy. When a fugitive capture team failed to find their FTA, they came to her. She could ferret out the most hidden FTAs. As a reward, Tank allowed her to accompany capture teams but only as a consultant and observer. She was not to engage in the actual capture.

She lived up to the mandate but did manage to stun a fleeing FTA as he passed the Rangeman vehicle. Technically she didn't leave the car as she kept on hand the truck's side door. The team returned to the office in high spirits. The Bombshell Bounty Hunter still managed to come away stained as the fleeing FTA christened her with the used coffee grounds and dinner left-overs carried by the skip on his way to the dumpster.

-0-

Winter had been long in Trenton. Heavy rains began in October and turned to snow before Thanksgiving. For weeks the weather alternated between freezing rain and snow with Arctic temperatures. Stephanie and Micky were depressed. They remembered being stranded Adirondacks the year before and had developed snow-phobia. By February, grey days, wet, salt-stained cars, and clothing became tiresome. Ranger decided t take Stephanie to the warm Caribbean as much for her mental health but to give the office a break from her increasing foul mood.

"Are you sure Babe is not pregnant," Ranger asked Micky. "Her mood is dark, totally unlike her."

"She needs warmth, sunshine, and ocean," Micky said. While she wanted to say more, she held her tongue. She too was feeling the isolation, remembering the winter before. Plus, they both still had their stalkers. They could not go out to night clubs, restaurants, or crowded places. One afternoon they both were struggling with cabin fever. After clearing leaving the building, they went back of Rangeman to a small lawn strip, built snow barricades, had a snowball fight. Several Rangemen came out to watch but quickly retreated after becoming the intended targets.

Any new adventure required new clothes, especially a trip to the Caribbean. Stephanie asked Micky if she wanted to go shopping. Years in the military taught Micky to avoid excess as it was too hard to schlep from one duty station to another. But by February, her boots were worn. She decided to join Stephanie at the mall.

As Stephanie crawled into the Porsche, she spoke, "Ranger said we need an escort. I told him it wasn't necessary."

Micky chuckled, "And he said it was non-negotiable."

"Yeah."

"Steph, I would not go with you otherwise."

"You too?"

"Get real, sister. Joe Morelli will continue to believe you are his. He has been heard around town complaining about you being with Ranger when you are still his Cupcake. And I am still waiting to hear Arkady is permanently gone. Let's not discount Rangeman enemies who would love to get to Ranger's woman."

The first stop was the Plum Bond office to leave Connie a birthday present and say hello to Lula. Their friendship was strained as Stephanie was working for Rangeman and not doing skip chasing. At best, she'd accompany Rangemen on the apprehension to review takedown policies.

There was no room in the Rangeman vehicles for Lula to ride along.

Stepping into the office, Lula turned and said, "Look what graced us with her presence."

Micky was standing behind Stephanie and didn't know if Lula knew her name or was using the speech figure.

"Strange you should say that Lula, I want to introduce Grace Brown, Bobby's wife. She's the second woman employee at Rangeman. Well, third, when you count Ella."

Lula looked Micky/Grace upside and down, "Do you work security with the men? You seem a bit old to be running around. Or are you a cougar relishing all the meat?"

"Lula!" Connie admonished.

"It's OK. I am old. I'm a part-time medic at Rangeman helping Bobby. I also work at a clinic in Robbinsville. Today is my day off, and I'm tagging along with Steph to hit the mall."

Steph wanted to get Lula off, Micky. "When Ranger and I get back, let's do a girls' night out. It's been a long time," Steph said, trying to lighten the bond's office mood. She felt a coldness from her friends she hadn't felt before.

"Sure thing, Steph," Connie said. "Thank you for remembering my birthday coming up."

"I won't be here that day, so I brought it by early. No peeking."

"Where you goin' White Girl?" Lula asked.

"I'm not sure. All I know, it won't have snow."

As Steph and Micky started towards the door, Lula went with them. "Is this your car?"

Sensing hostility from Lula, Stephanie didn't want to say it was a Christmas present from Ranger. "It's Ranger's decoy car. That is why it is blue, not black. I am borrowing it. You know my cars have a habit of going to car heaven, sometimes all by themselves."

As they pulled away from the curb, both women failed to notice Lula taking a car picture, especially the back end.

"Well, that was awkward," Stephanie said. "Was it me, or did you feel the coldness in there and I'm not referring to the temperature."

"Months ago, you would not have noticed the Burg chill. Also remember, you've been away from them and haven't given them their gossip quotient. You are moving on."

Mickey and Steph once again conquered the mall. Ramon stayed in the background, never bothering the women. While Stephanie was buying Caribbean vacation clothes, Micky decided she'd get a few other items than just boots. Stephanie was a bad influence on Micky's budget. Stephanie wanted to hand her purchases to Ramon, their escort, but Micky overrode it. "He needs his hands free."

Stephanie became defensive, "I always have my baby sitter carry my purchases."

"Seriously, Steph, baby sitter? He's not your butler or personal valet. Ramon is here to protect us. Let the man do his job. By the way, are you carrying a weapon?"

"No, are you?"

"Yes, I'm armed as per Rangeman policy. Is there a reason you think you can disregard your safety and Rangeman policy? You said you would work towards better safety awareness."

Stephanie knew Micky was correct but pissed at the verbal chastisement. Quickly marching to the car, Stephanie got in and started to pull away. Micky barely had time to get in before Steph accelerated. Ramon had to hustle to catch up. Just as he began to pull out, a car blocked his exit and refused to move. Ramon honked his horn and waved his hand, indicating the other car needed to move. Instead, the driver's window came down, and a 9 mm machine pistol came out and fired into the Rangeman vehicle.

Stephanie and Micky didn't hear the gunshots as Stephanie had her radio cranked up high to annoy Micky.

"Perhaps you should slow down for Ramon," Micky yelled over the loud music.

"Maybe you should enjoy the music," Stephanie snapped.

Micky turned off the music. "Were you going to run off and pout because I pointed out Ramon had a job, and it wasn't a butler or because you are not armed?"

Stephanie swung her head towards Malika, "I'm tired of…"

Suddenly Stephanie's Porsche was broadsided on the driver's side and pushed into another car. Men came out from both vehicles racing towards the Porsche in what appeared to be a rescue attempt. One yielded a giant sledgehammer and swung it into the already cracked windscreen. Others began pulling on the glass to remove it. Many hands reached in and deflated the airbags, cut the safety belts, then pulled out the women. Instead of gently laying them on the ground, they hustled the unconscious women to a nearby van that drove off. When witnesses tried to intervene, they met gunfire.

Back at the shopping mall, Ramon had activated his emergency button. Teams were on their way to the mall when police scanner reported shots fired in the parking lot. Moments later, Stephanie's Porsche emergency system kicked in several blocks from the mall. The camera inside the car recorded the men breaking the windshield and carrying the two women off. Hal was on Command floor duty, "Bomber's trackers?"

Zip on monitors reported, "Purse tracker still in the car, body tracker is moving southwest. The phone tracker is also moving southwest.

No, both trackers stopped moving."

"Does Micky have trackers?"

"Her cell phone has stopped, but the tracker hidden in her boot is still working. It is moving west."

One team went to check on Ramon. The second rescue team arrived at the Porsche. While scanning for traffic cameras, Cal drove off to find the trackers that had stopped moving. Both phones and a tracker were in the brush alongside the road. They still had Malika's boot until it stopped, two miles down the road.

"Hector, do you have a way to track the truck that took them away," Ranger asked.

"I'm working on it."

Nothing was coming together quickly. Ranger looked back at Hector, "Babe might be wearing her necklace. What is the range?"

"Five miles, sometimes six. I've got nothing here."

"Send up a drone from Micky's boot's last location and start with the direction the van and trucks drove off. Then start a 360 search."

Hector jumped up, "Si, si."

-0-

Micky was cold laying in a cold hard surface. A breeze blew across her body. Carefully she assessed her body, flexing and unflexing muscles, breathing regularly until her brain cleared. She was bruised but didn't appear to have broken bones. Her feet were cold, where were her boots? When she cracked her eyes a bit, she saw concrete. The large open area was concrete with concrete posts every fifteen feet or so. Looking around, she saw the light coming from openings in the walls. They appeared to be windows, but there was no framing or glass. This was either an unfinished building or one coming down. Four men stood off to the side with handguns trained on her.

Stephanie was lying next to Micky. Moans indicated she was starting to come around. Micky scooted closer, "Breathe slowly. Let your body relax so you can get oxygen throughout." When Stephanie was more aware, Micky said softly, "Starting with your feet, move slowly. Test drive your body." Stephanie had been through the Systema breathing routine often enough. She knew the drill. When Stephanie tried to clench her arm muscles, she hissed.

Noting Stephanie's reaction, Malika reached over and began feeling her arm. "You might have broken the clavicle again. Try not to move it."

"I'm freezing."

"We are on concrete in a partially enclosed building," Micky said, noting wood pallets next to them. "When you can sit, you need to be up on the wood, off the floor."

"That may be awhile. First, my head has to quit pounding."

"Let me help you. Roll onto your side and rest." Micky got on her knees and helped Stephanie up and onto the pallets. "I don't have my weapons, and we know you aren't armed. What about your phone and tracker? Mine are missing," Malika whispered.

Stephanie reached down and felt her front pocket, "Mine are gone too." Stephanie looked at the men with the guns, "Do you know them?"

"Not these four, only the old bastard across the room."

"Is it...?"

"Yeah, Arkady Babaev, my step-father."

Micky felt down Stephanie's neck. "You lost your necklace."

"No, it's in my bra. It must have broken and slipped in. There's a short-range tracker in it."

Micky understood. "So we only have to play nice until the cavalry arrives. We'll start by ignoring them."

That didn't last long. "Malika, come here!" The oldest man bellowed in Russian. Micky ignored him.

A closer man said in Russian, "Your father is calling you."

Micky ignored him. Stephanie spoke up, "This is New Jersey. We speak English."

The old man instructed in Russian, "Shoot her friend."

Micky instantly turned and said in English, "What the hell do you want, Arkady?"

He responded in Russian, "Daughter, you will speak to me in Russian and with respect."

"No! I am an American. I speak English," she spat back.

His beady eyes grew smaller. He was not expecting such a response. Malika had grown insulant. "You are my daughter. I am here to take you back to your family," he boomed in Russian.

"My mother and father are deceased," she shot back in Russian.

"I'm not dead," he said in amusement.

Micky continued, "Oh, I wish you were, you bastard. You killed Mama. No, not immediately, but your constant beatings left her with brain damage, which hastened her death. I resent the day the Embassy guards showed restraint when they dragged your drunken naked body from the apartment. They should have broken your neck. They wanted to, you know, but Ivan taught them restraint."

The name Ivan made his face turn red, "The bastard. If he weren't already dead, I would kill him myself," Arkady spat.

Ah, she had leverage. With enough push, maybe Arkady's arteries would blow apart. He had grown old and fat. No, he wasn't fat, he was swollen. He might have heart problems or other severe medical conditions. Good, this might be easy. "Beating your wife into a coma and trying to rape your daughter, even Ivan's Spetznaetz soldiers had their control limit."

"That is a lie!" He spat again. Arkady's tendency to drool may indicate a past stroke. Micky was going to enjoy watching him kill himself.

Micky looked at the posse surrounding her. She suspected they spoke Russian better than English, so she continued in Russian. "What part was a lie, you bastard? Your beating Mama? You brutalized her for years resulting in brain damage hastening her death. The greatest pianist and composer of the century and you killed her."

"Everyone dies," he shrugged.

"Then why haven't you? You are long overdue, you bloated old goat."

"You do not speak to me that way."

"I will speak like the low life you are. Do you deny trying to rape me?"

"I never did."

"Right, you tried, but you couldn't unzip your pants because you were so drunk and probably impotent. You ripped my nightgown down the middle, beat me, and tried to strangle me. Did beating a small ten-year-old girl turn you on? Maybe that's why Mama kept you away from me, you disgusting pedophile."

Arkady was stunned at her vehemence. "It's a lie," was all he could say.

"Do you know when the police found you passed out, your pants were down around your ankles, and your hairy ass visible for all to see? You disgraced yourself and the Russian government."

"You belong to me!"

"That gave you the right to rape me, a ten-year-old?" Micky was right to believe the men with Arkady were Russian speakers. Several raised their eyebrows in surprise.

Arkady ignored the men's expressions. "You are my daughter. You are Turkmen. I arranged for you to be taken to my people to marry when you were eight, but your mother fought me. I tried again when you were older, out of medical school. You were the right age to start a new family, a new dynasty."

The men with Arkady did a double-take. Did they hear Arkady admit he's not Russian but rather a despicable Turkmen? Slavs are very proud of their ancestry and resent those of the former Soviet Union expecting full partnership.

"So you had me, a military officer and doctor, kidnapped from a military base and transported to Turkmenistan so you could have grandchildren adding to your inbred band of misfits?" She had explicitly left off any reference to the United States in hopes the Russians thought she was Russian military.

"Ene wasn't my first choice for you, but he would have created strong children."

Micky tried to hold her anger, "He was a murderous, cruel hypocrite who went against everything in his Muslim religion. Your religion. But then you were pretending to be Rusk, and a Christian to gain favor with Moscow. Ene fought for the Taliban but lived like you, a drunk who ignored your Prophet's teachings."

Micky continued, "You lied to the priest saying you were Orthodox when you married Mama. You created the charade since you knew you would get married by the State immediately after. The second marriage wasn't necessary, but you told Mama it was required. No, it was because the first marriage was a sham."

Arkady wasn't listening. "Ene was your husband, but he is now dead. You belong to his brother Astra." Arkady waved his hand, and a man stepped forward."

Micky vaguely remembered a pimple-faced son of a bitch who leered at her. Ene would beat him for even looking at look at her and nearly killed him the night Astra snuck into the trailer to attack her as she was shackled.

Micky started to laugh, upsetting Astra and Arkady. Several Russian mob members had let their guns drop, trying to figure out what was the truth. Micky took a step forward and to the side as she laughed. She was moving away from Stephanie lest bullets began flying. You can't be serious! This one is worse than his brother!" She was still speaking Russian. "Ene beat him often to keep him away from me. You expect me to return to your band of despised...gypsies?" Once again, she danced a bit to the side, and a step towards the assembled me. Also, the concrete floor was numbing her feet.

"I'll only return if I'm leading a Spetznaz team to wipe out every last vestige of them. I'm surprised Turkmenistan or Kazakhstan hasn't kicked them out of their countries altogether for being vile pigs." She was still trying to convince the posse members she was Russian when she referred to Spetznaz soldiers.

Arkady became enraged. The men around him were looking at Arkady with raised eyebrows. Was the woman telling the truth? Was she kidnapped from the Russian Army? Was Arkady a Turkman gypsy. "You will do as I say! You were Ene's wife, and now you belong to Astra. As my daughter, you must do as I say."

"Arkady, your tour through the vodka bottles has left you with more brain damage than what you inflicted on Mama in her many beatings." She took another step to the side and towards Arkady getting within six feet. "I have so much to tell you. I hardly know where to begin. First of all, see this ring on my hand. I'm already married to a nice American man."

"It is an illegal marriage. You are already married."

"Ene is dead, _Slava Bogu!_ (Thank God!) By Turkmen, Russian, and American law, I am a widow. It is your tribe of despicable swine who still hold on to the ancient ways. All it has done is left your people inbred. Nobody else in the 'Stan's wants to breed into your group. You have to buy or kidnap young girls to get wives."

"In my culture, you now belong to Ene's brother, Astra."

"Your culture? Why would I want to follow your culture?"

"It is your heritage."

She laughed. She had been waiting all her life for this confrontation. "Ready for another Earth-shattering revelation? I was never married to Ene. Didn't Astra tell you? Because Ene beat his other wives to death, the Mullah refused to conduct the ceremony. Ene was an outcast."

"You weren't married?" Arkady was shocked.

"No. That didn't stop Ene. He used me like a whore. I conceived a baby through rape."

"Where's the child?"

"It seems Astra has forgotten to tell you something else. Maybe Ene beating him inflicted the same brain damage you inflicted upon my mother. I was fourteen weeks along when Ene beat me so bad while I was shackled, I miscarried. Ruslan's wife freed me. I left the village to die in private from infection and blood loss. My fellow soldiers found me and got me to a hospital. The big news for you is Ene beat me so badly, I lost not only the child but also my womb. I am barren. I can't have children! Arkady, you bastard gypsy goat, you have wasted all these years. You should have been making daughters with other women. Oh, maybe your drunkenness has left you impotent."

"You are my daughter," he screamed. Is color was now purple, his lips tinged with blue. Yeah, he was vulnerable.

Micky threw her head back and laughed loudly again. "I have even bigger news for you, Arkady Babaev. I am not your daughter! Remember, Ivan, your aide? After one of your first beatings of Mama, he sat with her in the hospital and, well, they fell in love. I am the product of that love. Look at your hands and Astra's hands. See how sharp the metatarsal arc is, resulting in the last finger being so much shorter. That is one of your native tribe's genetic markers. Look at my hand, nearly level. These are Ivan's hands. Look at my ear lobes. They float free at the end, neither yours nor Mama's are like mine. Where did that come from? Ivan. Look at my nose and eyes. They are not like yours or mamas. Look at my skin color. It is Slav, not olive-colored like yours or Mama's."

"You are mine!"

"No Arkady Babaev, we share no DNA, no bloodlines. You are nothing to me except the bastard that tried to rape me when I was ten years old. You are not my father, Ivan was. I, Malika Katherine, was born of an American woman and a Russian Spetnaetz father. I am a true Rusk. You are a Turkmen pig pretending to be Rusk. My name is now Grace Brown. I threw away every last vestige of you and your sick family and tribe, including my name."

The old bear roared. "No!" He stepped forward as if to grab Micky. Instead, she used a quick and forceful blow to his throat. It contained every ounce of hatred she had for Arkady. She wanted to cheer when she felt the trachea collapse, and the strike continues to the vertebrae. Immediately Arkady fell. With luck, the fractured vertebrae cut or injured the spinal cord. Either injury, trachea, or spinal column, Arkady would suffocate or stroke out in several minutes.

Micky then turned on the other men. They were slow to react, hesitate to back up a Turkman. With lightning speed, Micky had knocked several guns aside while breaking bones. One of her attackers flew back after a misplanned shot from another's weapon caught him in the chest. Astra tried to attack but was too slow. Micky found his head and twisted, forcing the broken vertebra into the spinal column. Astra, like Arkady, would not recover. One man was well trained in hand to hand but slow with his handgun. Micky knocked the gun aside as it fired, sending the bullet astray. The two flung arms and legs at one another. Micky was inching towards an opening in the outside wall. While she wasn't sure how many floors she was above the ground, she suspected at least three from the trees' angles. Out of the corner of her eye, Micky saw Stephanie grab a loose gun. If ever there was a time for Steph to remember her weapon's training, it was now.

Stephanie was fumbling the gun. The broken clavicle prevented her from using both hands. She had eschewed weight training, which would have allowed her to shoot with either hand. Micky saw one of the injured men crawl to Arkady's body and take his handgun from his jacket pocket.

The man with the handgun raised his weapon to fire. His first shot went wild. Steph was still struggling with the pistol in one hand. Micky's attacker chose this moment for a frontal attack. She stepped aside at the last second and push-punched the man past her. His momentum carried him out the opening. Turning back to look at the man with a handgun, Micky noticed he was aiming at Stephanie! Micky grabbed Stephanie and forced her to the floor as the attacker fired.

**Stephanie POV**

I sat on the wooden pallets trying to get warm, but my shoulder hurt as did the ribs on the left side. I tried listening to Malika, but she spoke Russian to the older man. The more they talked, the more enraged the man became. His face was getting redder, like Morellis, when he was upset. I realized she was moving away from me, drawing the men's eyes to her. Did she want me to run or hide? Suddenly she sprang forward, and the older man dropped to the ground twitching. Two men with guns raised to fire, but she put them down, their weapons clattered to the ground. Micky grabbed another man and twisted his head. This time I heard the snap as she broke his neck. A handgun lay close to me. If I could get to it, I could help. It was an automatic but had a safety engaged. Who does that during battle? The safety was on the wrong side. I used my body to hold the pistol while I fumbled for the safety. A man on the floor had a handgun and was aiming at Micky. I fired back but missed. Suddenly, the man fighting Malika went out of the wall opening. His sickening scream faded and suddenly stopped.

I heard a noise coming from the stairs in the corner. I turned to look to see who was coming when Micky grabbed me and forced me to the ground. The pain in my shoulder exploded. Multiple shots rang out. Who was firing? Did my gunfire again? Micky grunted and stumbled over me, grabbing for the wall, but missed. She disappeared out the same wall opening her opponent had flown.

Sounds became mixed up in my head. I heard boots running across the floor and people yelling, "Stop! Drop the gun!" More sounds coming towards me, "Don't go there! Let me go!" I was trying to crawl to the opening to get to Micky. I was near to the edge when I felt myself being pulled back by my foot. I turned, ready to kick who had hold of me. Lester was holding my foot, pulling me away from the opening. Ranger and Bobby were fighting.

"Let me go!" Bobby screamed. "Micky!

Malika!"

Ranger was slowly gaining control of Bobby. Lester scooted in front of me and peered out the opening. His shoulders slumped, his body deflated. His head fell onto his arm. We knew.

I had seen someone fall from this height, Vlatko, in Atlantic City. The result wasn't pretty. I didn't want to see what lay below. My rescuer, my friend, was dead. Did I shoot her?

"Noooooo!" Wailed Bobby, "Nooooo! Micky! Micky!"

Suddenly my life shattered. Micky was dead because I had a hissy fit at the mall. I ran away from our escort Ramon like a child.

I failed to shoot the man with a gun because I never took training seriously. I had gotten other Rangemen injured; Tank with a broken leg, Ranger shot in the calf, but nobody ever died. People died when they got close to me. I was a killer.

Inching away from Lester, I got to my feet. I didn't want to walk, wanted to slink away like the loser I was. Ranger wasn't looking at me; he was hugging Bobby talking to him. Lester was crying! Tank and Gene were securing the men still alive. Everyone refused to look at me because I killed Micky. I quietly slipped away, down the steps. By the door were the Rangeman vehicles, unguarded. Did the men run to the other side of the building to see what destruction the Bombshell Bounty Hunter caused this time?

Sirens were coming closer. Joe Morelli was coming with Eddie and Big Dog. My mother was coming. They would scream, "You killed again! How are you going to live with another body on your conscience?" Who would get the pay-off from betting on my latest disaster? Would my father, who became my support, shake his head and turn away? Will Ranger tell me to leave? My time at Rangeman was over. They would forever hate me. Stephanie Michelle Plum got Bobby's wife killed.

A Rangeman vehicle stood nearby. The keys are always in the car, so I got in, technically stealing the car, and slipped away.

Where to go? Away. It was time to go away forever.

The gas tank was full. Where could I escape? East was out. Point Pleasant would be my expected destination. West into Pennsylvania? South down the Atlantic coast? I would go North into New York City, where I could disappear forever. No, there were toll roads. The windshield pass would alert Hector where I went. Where to go to get lost? Pine Barrens. Didn't all the Unmentionables in the area congregate there where they would not harm anyone? Indeed now I was unmentionable, an aberration who got people dead. I wasn't the Fire Farter or the Jersey Devil. I was Stephanie, the murderer.

The snow was deep as the side roads in the Barrens hadn't been plowed. Putting the SUV into four-wheel drive, I carefully navigated the rural roads, not knowing where I was going. Suddenly the big vehicle veered sharply to the side when I drove off the road. I continued overland, around trees, but the truck dipped down and stalled. The seatbelt held me in place, but my shoulder exploded in pain. From the bottom of my soul, I started screaming, screaming from my shoulder's pain, the pounding in my head, and the devastation I caused. I needed to get deep into the woods to disappear. Would Ranger pursue me, or would he turn away in disgust?"

I carefully tucked my hand into my waistband to keep my shoulder from moving around. Staying with the trees, I moved quickly, deeper into the forest. Perhaps like Daphne, I could be transformed into a tree to escape Apollo.

My boots kept the cold out initially, but soon it started seeping in. I didn't care. I would walk until I collapsed, and my heart quit beating. Tears fell from my face, freezing immediately. Micky believed in me, tried to help me, but I let her down, down, down four stories to splat on the paving below, just like Vlatko. She saved my life twice, and I killed her. I, a 34-year-old woman, had another childish temper tantrum because I reacted by emotions, not by reason. I would never amount to anything more than a pathetic comic book character. Not Wonder Woman, I was Joe Btfsplk from Li'l Abner comics, the well-meaning jinx who brought disastrous misfortune to all.

Dickie lost his political chances because of me. Joe lost his job because of me. How many Rangemen had been injured or shot because of me? I laughed at the men, Rangemen calling me their light. "_Now I become Death, the destroyer of worlds_." Why did the quote from the Hindu scripture Bhagavad Gita come to mind? I am Death. There is no redemption for me.

Continuing, I found myself tangled in low shrubs covered by the snow. There was water below, a bog. Suddenly I was knee-deep in cold water. Struggling forward, I tried to crawl to high ground, but my injured arm was stopping me. Suddenly my foot slipped. I fell only to be covered by the snow-covered plants as the water and earth began to consume me. Suddenly, a thousand hands from Hell grabbed me, trying to pull me down to their realm. Why was I fighting? Wasn't I destined to be there? I killed Micky. People died when they were around me back to my first FTA case. Please, let the mud cover me for eternity.

0-

"Let me go! Bobby screamed. "Micky! Malika!"

Before Bobby could get free, a small voice came from outside, "Bobby!"

Lester lifted his head from his arm and quickly got to his feet. Ranger let go of Bobby, and all three inched close to the wall opening. Looking ou, they saw the broken body half in and half out of the dumpster. Only the back and legs were visible, wearing dark trousers and boots like Micky. There was no way she survived a fall four stories to end up hungover a dumpster. Wait! The body had boots. Micky lost hers.

"Bobby!" Came the voice again.

"Micky, where are you?" Bobby called in near hysterics.

"Tube," the small voice called back.

Lester had moved to another wall opening, stretching out for a better look. He gasped. Nearly three feet wide, a long tube extended down several stories into a fabric chute that ended a dumpster. It was a construction debris chute. Micky was hanging on the outside with her arms and legs wrapped around the tube. Lester couldn't reach her to pull her back in. The wall support bolt and tube were wiggling, threatening to dislodge at any moment, sending Micky crashing into the dumpster below.

Ranger and Bobby got closer to Lester and stared in disbelief. "Can you slide down?" Ranger called out to her.

She looked back with a "what other option do I have?" Malika was sweating and panting as if it was all she could do to hang on. Somehow, she found finger and leg holds in the fabric and the seams of the underlying metal shoot.

All three men turned and ran back down the stairs. Lester was the first around the building and jumped to the top of the dumpster and pulled himself over, ignoring the male corpse hanging over the far side. Micky continued to slide down the tube slowly. She was pausing as she reached the fabric sleeve without the underlying tubing.

Resetting her legs, she slid onto the fabric, but the Velcro and buckle system holding the sections together began to let loose and separate. Micky hurried her descent. Ranger stood on the dumpster top to grab her as she got near the bottom. Bobby appeared with his medical bag and joined Lester in the dumpster just as the last of the fabric separated. The separating fabric tore slowly, like a jungle vine, lowering Micky into all three men's arms. The four dropped down onto the dumpster debris. As Lester rolled back with Micky holding tightly to his chest, a large red splotch was visible on the right side of her back.

-0-

Bobby had several large compresses against Micky's back. Ranger held them as Bobby pulled out a saline bag from under his jacket to keep one warm during the winter. Slitting open her jacket sleeve, he hooked her up and held the EMTs' bag to arrive. From the sirens, they weren't far away.

Other Rangemen were jumping onto the dumpster, ready to aid in the recovery. "We need a stretcher," Ram shouted as the ambulance door swung open. Quickly one appeared, and the Rangeman lowered it to Lester and Ranger. Securing Micky to the stretcher, the Rangemen lifted her up and over into other Rangemen hands and transferred to the ambulance. Bobby was at her side.

Once everyone was out of the dumpster, Ranger did a quick survey of the site. Where was Stephanie? He assumed she was heading to Micky. Walking up to Ram, he asked, "Have you seen Babe?"

"Maybe she's still upstairs with Gene and Tank." Instantly Ranger was up the four flights. "Have you seen Stephanie."

"She went down the steps."

Ranger ran to the wall opening, "Steph is missing. Find her!"

Racing to the back to the dumpster, Ranger noticed the ambulance was gone. He turned to Lester as asked, "How is she?"

Lester looked at his blood-stained shirt, "Bad. I don't think she'll make it." Then pulling himself together, Lester asked, "How is Beautiful?"

"I don't know. I can't find her."

The police on the scene wanted to know what happened. The only witness was Stephanie, and she was missing. Ram caught Ranger's eye. "Excuse me," Ranger said with surprising calmness to the interviewing officer. Walking over to Ram, Ranger barked, "Report."

"Sir, Expedition number two is missing. I've called control. The vehicle just turned onto 206, heading towards the Pine Barrens."

"Go now!"

-0-

Back on the fourth floor, Tank watched the officer pull a wallet from the older man's jacket.

What's his name?" Tank asked.

Eddie Gazarra looked up surprised. It was a strange question from the big Rangeman. "He has several IDs on him."

"Is one Arkady Babeyv?"

"Yes. What's going on?"

Ranger ran back up the stairs to Tank. "I've got to leave. Stephanie is missing. We are tracking her heading east. She may be injured." Then glancing down at the dead older man, "Is that Arkady, her step-father?"

Tank nodded once.

Ranger looked at the other dead and those waiting for transport to the hospital or jail. He recognized two being low-level Russian mob who lived in the area.

-0-

The ambulance pulled into the only Trauma One center in the area, Capital/Fund. The waiting room was a sea of black, Rangeman waiting for word on Malika and Ramon. They also came to give blood in addition to support. They waited, ready to give blood.

After 50 minutes, those waiting saw another gurney enter and quickly move to the treatment centers.

Ram and several other Rangeman followed it in. Ranger looked up at Ram, who shook his head. Ranger lowered his.

Ram went over to Lester and asked, "Micky?"

"Nothing except requests for type O blood."

"Ramon?"

"Also in surgery. Where did you find Bomber?"

"Cranberry bog in the Barrens. She was deep in the muck," Ram answered.

Hours passed.

Tank had stopped by Haywood to find clean clothes for Ranger and Lester. As the hours wore on, Ranger thanked and dismissed the men who had given blood, knowing they needed rest. He did not see Frank Plum enter. So much for awareness. Frank was sitting by himself. Ranger joined him but said nothing. Frank finally spoke, "This is getting old. What happened?"

"I don't have all the facts, but Micky was the target, and Stephanie was an innocent bystander. What have they told you?"

"Nothing, nothing at all. Where's Dr. Brown? He usually keeps us informed."

"Micky is his wife."

"I didn't know he was married. How bad is she?"

"Bad."

"What happened to my daughter?"

"According to witnesses, her car was purposely t-boned and pushed into a large SUV. A group of men pulled them from the vehicle but did not wait for EMTs. Babe, ah, Stephanie and Micky were taken to a building in Hamilton Township under construction. After a shootout, she fled to the Barrens. I don't know if she's physically injured, but I suspect she's having a mental breakdown. My guys found her stuck in a cranberry bog in the Barrens."

Frank shook his head, "I thought she was getting better."

"She was, but something happened in that building that caused her to run."

The emergency room nurse came to Ranger and Frank Plum. "Please follow me."

They met Dr. Butler in a hall that offered some privacy.

"First of all, Ramon Sanchez. Numerous bullet shrapnel wounds. One was nasty, nicking his carotid artery. He is very fortunate.

"Second, Stephanie Plum. Injuries are minimal. Her clavicle fractured at nearly the same spot as before. She has two fractured ribs and bruises all down her left side from the auto impact. She was hypothermic when she came in. We are slowing raising her temperature. When she regained consciousness, she was extremely distraught. She begged us to let her die. We had to sedate her."

"How long will she be out?"

"Once her core temperature rises, she will be physically out of danger. The sedation should last until tonight."

"What about Grace Brown?"

Dr. Butler paused, "She is still in surgery. The bullet hit the liver. She was flatline when she got here. Dr. Brown is in with the team."

Frank turned to Ranger, "I'll take the first shift here. She's not going to be waking until later. I'll call Valerie and Edna. Come back in a few hours. If something happens before, I'll call you."

Ranger returned to the waiting area where Lester sat the vigil. "What?" Lester asked.

"Babe has hypothermia, a couple of fractures and contusions, but..."

"What?"

"She was begging the doctors to let her die. She was probably fleeing to the Barrens to disappear forever."

The two men sat in silence. "Ramon?" Lester asked again.

"Nicked caratoid. Ramon will spend two days here before he's released."

Lester swallowed, "Micky?"

"The bullet hit the liver. The surgeons are having a hard time stopping the bleeding."

Several hours later, Bobby emerged from the surgery area His eyes were hollow. Ranger and Lester were immediately at his side. The other Rangemen came over as well.

"I'm going to have to be concise; otherwise, I'll lose it. The bullet hit the liver. Micky was entering hypovolemic shock when she fell into the dumpster, virtually no heartbeat. She had no heartbeat when we got here. I lost count the number of blood units she required. I understand several of our guys contributed. Thank them for me until I get a chance. Right now, doctors aren't sure she won't hemorrhage again. Bobby had to pause to pull himself together. He looked up again, "You've heard about Ramon?"

Ranger nodded.

Bobby's eyes flashed anger for a moment, "Where is Bomber?"

"She was injured in the collision but now sedated. I was staying out here until you came. Frank is with her for a few hours before I go back."

"Yeah, at least your woman gets to live." Bobby spun around and walked away.

-0-

Ranger sat beside his Babe's bed as she slept. His head was throbbing. How many times has he done this both in hospitals and in her apartment? What was there that kept him coming back to her? It took him years to understand, this was his soul, his heart, but he repeatedly pushed her away. Finally, they had opened up to one another, but was it too late? Her begging to die indicated her resiliency was gone. Was she broken? Dr. Peter was still treating years of near-death experiences, years of abuse from the Burg, but now this, watching Micky fall out a four-story window, no doubt reminded her of Vlatko.

And what about Bobby and Micky? For a brief moment, he saw hatred in Bobby's eyes when he asked about Babe. Are they to lose both their women? Will Bobby recover?

"Malika will make it," came a voice from the tall blond man walking into the room.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Diesel?" Ranger hissed. At least Ranger understood why he had a headache.

"Remember I told you Malika is one of us. She has a healing trait, like mine."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ranger hissed.

"Didn't Bobby assume she would die in Turkmenistan? She was dead when they removed her from the helicopter, but revived. Didn't Bobby say she had no heartbeat when she arrived here? If severely injured, we Unmentionables can go into stasis, a condition between life and death. If Unmentionable healers get to the wounded within 24 hours, there is no lasting damage. If mortal medicine intervenes, the recovery is slower and somewhat problematic. Malika is not registered. The healers do not know about her, but I've kept my eye on her.

"What about the Adirondacks, was she in stasis?"

"No, her life was never in danger from her injuries, but her abilities allowed her to perfectly set Stephanie's many fractures and heal her internal injuries."

"Is Micky eternal?" Ranger asked.

Diesel smiled, "No, a lethal injury or old age will claim her just as it will us all. She lost a portion of her liver. Isn't that right, Doctor Brown?" Diesel said with his back turned to the man that was standing six feet behind, eavesdropping.

Bobby nodded.

"She will be fine in time. Her Unmentionable liver will regenerate rather quickly. I just popped in to relieve your minds."

"What about Stephanie?"

"She will need in-depth therapy, but if she knows you will stand with her, Ranger, she can make it back. She figures you'll walk away from her now for killing Micky. Cute name, by the way.

"While I would like to catalog Malika's abilities, I will honor Ivan's request. She will never know unless you tell her. I will leave you with by saying thank you for protecting Malika, now Micky. With that, there was a pop and the unmistakable lingering scent of Christmas cookies.

"What the fuck was that about, Ranger?" Bobby whispered.

"What was what?" Ranger lied. "You look like the walking dead. Do you even remember why you came in here?"

"I'm not hallucinating. That was Diesel. Is Micky one of them?"

Ranger sighed, "Yes, but she is not registered. Her father, Ivan, didn't want her to know."

"What's her power?"

"Ability to heal," Ranger answered.

Bobby asked, "You mean to heal or to be healed?"

Ranger shrugged. "I'm not sure. For certain to heal, but maybe also to heal."

-0-

Micky opened her eyes and saw the dark-skinned man sitting reading from a tablet. He raised his eyes and softly spoke, "This is how we met in Albany."

Micky nodded. She put out her hand to hold his and whispered, "You need to sleep."

"I have and could use more, but you need to go back to sleep right now."

"What is the damage?"

"A liver lobe."

"Liver?"

"I would gladly consult with you further, but since you are awake and talking plus showing minimal jaundice, know we can discuss this later as you will have a later."

She nodded and whispered, "You need to sleep, my love."

He was so tired all he could do was nod. He had been by her side for days.

The next day the surgeon stopped in, "I don't know how you stayed with us. I'd like to think you had great doctors starting with Bobby."

Bobby was still telling himself Diesel's discussion with Ranger was a hallucination and remained mute.

The doctor continued, "But I'm putting it on Bobby's immediate intervention and the prayers." Then looking at Bobby, "Bobby, you need sleep, horizontal sleep, not sitting in a chair. This wasn't a combat mission. It is your wife. "

Malika smiled a weak smile. She agreed with the surgeon. Once she and Bobby were alone, she asked, "What else?"

He took several cleansing breaths and began, "Ramon was shot as he tried to follow you. He was here three days and now back at Haywood. Bones is watching him. Bomber's physical injuries weren't too bad, but mentally she's a wreck. She thought you died, and she was to blame. The guys found her in the Pine Barrens, far from her vehicle. It's as if she crawled off to die."

"She is broken."

"Ranger brought her in here so she could see you were alive. It helped a bit. She needs serious psychiatric care. Both are now in Miami to work with Cecelia, Ranger's sister. She and her husband are psychiatrists. Both Ranger and Bomber are going to need treatment."

"How did Arkady find me?"

Bobby rubbed his face, another sign of being tired. "Somebody was hacking the VA records. It began when you got to were stationed at the Albany VA, as you suspected. After the attack and you disappeared, the hacking slowed down.

News of two women found in the Adirondacks brought them sniffing again."

"So, the ploy to get me to the Albany VA was Arkady?"

"We believe he was in Russia but sent word to have you kidnapped. He didn't know how badly you were injured. We prevented that from happening. When told you escaped, he collapsed. Maybe he had a stroke or heart attack. The attempts to find you went into hibernation."

"Too bad the bastard didn't die," Micky hissed.

Bobby agreed and continued, "It took months for him to recover. When he was well enough, the hacking began again. He found you at Lourdes Clinic. Suddenly you were gone again, this time through the name change. Then the joker was added to the mix. Morelli started drinking heavily and spouting off about the Air Force bitch doctor that ruined his career. The Russian mob heard him and contacted Arkady. Arkady came to town and began spreading the word he'd pay for information about you."

Bobby stopped. Micky could see hatred in his eyes. "Go on, Bobby," she urged.

"It's hard. My emotions are all over with this." He breathed in a few times and began again, "Stephanie took you to the bond's office and introduced you to Lula. I don't know what was said, but Lula put two and two together, figured out who you were, and contacted Morelli, who, in turn, contacted the Russian mob here. Arkady was in town. Everything snapped into place. The Russians had an out of the way building, and they knew where you would be, plus they had Steph's car and license plate. Lula took a picture. At the parking lot, one person blocked Ramon and opened fire. The Porsche was T-boned."

"We could have been killed."

"Ramon nearly was and you were for a moment. They fired into the truck, hitting his neck. That's another reason Steph isn't doing well. Ramon was injured, Joe Morelli, her supposed fiance plus her friend, Lula, betrayed you."

"Do I dare ask what has or will happen to them?"

Bobby shook his head no, " There's still an on-going investigation."

Micky figured Morelli, and maybe Lula was missing, perhaps feeding the Pine Barrens' soil bacteria. "Were you involved?"

Again he shook his head no.

"After all these years, is it finally over?"

"Yes. Arkady and the younger Turkmen are dead. The police will want to talk to you to wrap up the case. There will be no retribution or honor killing from the Russian community. Ranger went and spoke to the head here. Arkady recruited help under pretenses. First, he never mentioned he was not a genuine born Slav but rather a Turkmen. Second, Arkady always referred to you as Malika Arkadyevna, his daughter. When Ranger told them your true father's name, there were many embarrassed Russians here and Brighton Beach. Ivan Rostov was revered among the Russian ex-pats."

"Was the hacker found?"

"Yeah, some whiz out in Silicon Valley. He needed the money. His lifestyle was more significant than his obscene salary. Plus, he had no moral scruples. When told what he had done, he shrugged as if it was no big deal. With a reasonable prosecutor, the hacker will be looking at thirty years in federal prison.

"I doubt it. That's the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals. All he had to do is play his Liberal card," Micky shook her head in disgust.

"You forget one factor," Bobby said, looking at her without another word.

"The Justice League?" Micky asked.

"If necessary."

Micky looked off, "I don't want to know." After a period of silence, Micky asked Bobby, "Can you forgive Stephanie?"

Bobby sat back and crossed his arms over his chest and sighed, sending off conflicting body messages. "I think what I have done and seen over the years and the problems I've had, I'm trying. She has gone through hell most of her life. It's been a bad year for her." He held up his hand and started counting on his fingers. "She finally broke up with Joe, was severely injured and stranded in the mountains with you. Add her mother's breakdown, then Lula betraying you, Ramon getting shot. End with the car crash, kidnapping, and you shot and falling out the opening. Is it any wonder she slipped back into old Bomber mode running away. She usually is good about bouncing back, but these will tax her. Maybe with help from the professional and Ranger's support, she can be reborn."

"Hopefully, stronger."

"Amen."

"So you'll try?" Micky asked as she gripped his hand.

"You'll have to help me."

"That's why God created woman to help man."

-0-

Later:

Joe Morelli died in a flophouse on Stark Street. His death was not officially ruled "by drugs," out of compassion for his family. The official report read "heart attack with over-riding conditions." His blood-alcohol level was 0.55, well above intoxication levels. Also found was heroin with the needle nearby with only Joe's fingerprints. The autopsy showed Joe was not long for this world. He had esophageal cancer, cirrhosis of the liver, and clogged heart arteries.

Joe was a cocaine abuser since losing his job. So the heroine discovery was unexpected. The pathologists assumed Joe was moving his drug choice into heroin, except Joe wasn't the one who injected the drug. The list of the possible perpetrators included TPD police, pimps, and members of the Grizolli mob. A few thought of Ranger, but he was in Miami. Nobody suspected a former gang banger who now worked for Rangeman.

Lula Jackson packed up all her belongings and left Trenton never to be heard from again. Her departure was quick, and she didn't tell a soul where or when she was going. At least that was what the police believed. Out of respect for his previous feelings for her, he never knew.

Ranger and Stephanie spent the next seven months in Florida. They made their surprise return to Trenton at the Rangeman Halloween party dressed as Batman and Wonder Woman. Their wedding rings shown brightly. Stephanie had been reborn.

Celcia completed the work therapist Drs. Peter Roman and Micky Brown had begun. Stephanie understood the years of abuse from her mother and the Burg was responsible for her hiding in the Land of Denial. Fear of harassment kept her from moving forward. Her succor was not alcohol like her mother, but sugar and sex.

The betrayal by Morelli and Lula was not Stephanie's fault, but their inability to adapt. Stephanie had moved on. Joe did not know how to love and work towards a domestic relationship due to his upbringing. Lula was jealous and vindictive after Stephanie left.

The reborn Stephanie quickly moved back into her roles at Rangeman but never requested to work in the field, bringing in FTAs. As Micky had pointed out, Stephanie's strength was in using her brain to solve problems and her likability. She became the softer face of Rangeman.

Most of all, Steph avoided everything Burg. Never again did she eat at Pino's. She had given up desserts and other sugars when Cecelia showed her how higher blood sugars were not helping, but adversely affecting her mood swings. Tasty Pastry was forgotten and was Butterscotch Krimpets.

Frank Plum decided he had enough of Helen Plum and divorced her. He sold the house, which was solely in his name, and set Helen up in a one-bedroom apartment on St. James. The same one Stephanie once lived. It was the same apartment. A year later, the apartment building caught fire. Helen was too drunk to get out of her apartment. Firefighters rescued her, but her heart stopped due to alcohol abuse.

Micky retired from the Air Force. She and Bobby continue to live at Rangeman but have a home near Washinton Crossing, where they often spend the evenings together watching the sunset.


End file.
